


end to start.

by romulus_adhara



Category: NCT (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: (almost) everyone is a magical creature, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dramatic Irony, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Folklore, Jaeil - Freeform, Luwoo, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, OT7 BTS, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Spies & Secret Agents, Swearing, Violence, a lot of lore, but there’s not enough space for them in the tags, fairy!taeyong, from all over the world, johnmark, lots of flashbacks, namjin - Freeform, ot21 NCT in da house, selective mutism, shapeshifter!ten, so it’s all in the text, taekook, taeten - Freeform, trigger warnings are in the description please be advised, yoonmin, yuwin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2020-01-23 01:32:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 88,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18539566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romulus_adhara/pseuds/romulus_adhara
Summary: Shapeshifters may be hybrids that people rarely take seriously, but they’re still magic folk, and their specialty is never being themselves.Fairies can see through the disguise, but no matter how many faces of Ten’s that runaway guy can feel to be false, Ten still has a sharp mind and a cold heart. And that one always remembers its task and will never yield, and he knows that his body can be beaten and broken a hundred times over, but his soul will always hold up its defenses, and if the fairy tries to break through them — that is where he will meet his downfall.





	1. prologue.

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: all the creatures are legit folklore figures (or taken from the supernatural universe (and that one love, death + robots episode)) but I’m taking some liberty with tractating their lore as I see fit for the setting of the universe where humans and creatures cohabitate in (relative) peace. 
> 
> tw for the whole fic: violence, minor characters deaths, mentions of sexual abuse and sex slavery, past child abuse, racism towards certain magical species. the majority of tw isn’t heavily described and is mentioned in passing or as apart of someone’s backstory.
> 
> beta'd by amazing [mingoyoongi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mingoyoongi), im forever grateful  
>  [the moodboards and character profiles](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara/status/1119942314305228802)

_[Ten Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara/status/1123616889387868163)_

> **race** : shapeshifter 

> **age** : 29 

> **position** : leader of the _Nocturnal Department_ of the San Francisco branch of TOUCH 

> **relations** : no known relatives 

> **education** : TOUCH Academy Command School (SF HQ) [ _with honors_ ]

### 1

**May 19, 2019**

_Seoul, South Korea_

It’s just another assignment. 

Ten takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment. There. A rustle of clothes, a soft whisper telling someone to be quiet. 

You won’t have to stay silent for long, he thinks. 

Opens his eyes and centers himself, balancing the sniper rifle on the stone railing. Just one shot — and it will all be over. 

The target steps in front of the window, and Ten almost feels sorry for him.

Don’t go making it easy, darling. 

He thinks about Kun. 

**May 16, 2019**

_San Francisco, USA_

_SF TOUCH Headquarters_

According to Johnny, the water folk department is a waste of space and money, but Ten knows he’s just jealous of the giant pool they have surrounding the whole space, glass walls and ceiling creating an array of dancing lights on the floor at all times. 

Ten likes it. Every time he steps in here, it feels like he’s inside a giant aquarium but nobody is making him look at octopuses and dolphins. The last time they did, he accidentally turned into a tiny white shark and scared the shit out of everyone. Not his fault his dumbass foster parents didn’t read the guidelines for taking care of a five-year-old shapeshifter. 

He sees Kun as soon as he steps inside. He’s above the main computer, silent and motionless in the water, not even a bubble of air around his mouth suggesting he’s actually alive. Probably taking a nap. Ten wouldn’t put it past him to legit sleep in the water. Fuck knows how dagons spend their leisure time. Anybody whose folklore comes even close to any kind of deities is a secretive bitch, so the only people knowing the true extent of Kun’s habits are probably the guys from HR and some hardcore groupies.

Ten sighs and comes closer to the tank, tapping his fingers on the glass to attract Kun’s attention and trying not to ogle too much at his tail, emerald scales shining in the light. It’s impolite, after all. He wouldn’t want someone watching him mid-shift. It’s not pretty, with all that goo, and it’s also quite intimate.

Kun’s eyes fly open, annoyance on his face turning into exasperation as he recognizes Ten. He rolls his eyes and opens his lips, mouthing something, but Ten just pokes his tongue at him. 

“I can’t hear you, dumbass,” he shouts, motioning by his ear. 

Kun clicks his tongue and takes off to the air sphere as Ten takes his time to look around and get comfortable in a chair by the mainframe. It’s empty in the office, only the beeping of the monitors indicating that some work goes on as the others from the water squad are fuck knows where.

“What do you want?”

Ten turns around in the chair with a huge smile, watching as Kun dries off his body, stretching his legs now that he’s fully back in the human form. 

“And hello to you too, dear friend,” Ten sing-songs, not ashamed in the slightest as he watches Kun get dressed. He likes appreciating all the beautiful things he encounters in life. “Where are the others? Getting up to something _fishy_?”

Kun stops in his tracks, his hands frozen where’s he’s drying his hair. He drops the towel and looks at Ten, utterly unimpressed. 

“You’re proud of yourself for that one, aren’t you?” He asks tiredly. 

Ten nods with another smile and clicks his tongue. 

“I have tons of fish puns reserved just for you, baby.”

Kun sighs and comes up to the computer, clicking a few buttons and checking the signals. Ten has no idea what it says, and he should by this point — he’s been promising himself to take up Merlingua for months now, but to no avail. 

“It’s two in the morning, Ten,” Kun notes coldly. “My boys are sleeping. Shouldn’t you?”

Ten gasps in offense and slaps him on the shoulder, pouting as he starts spinning on the chair. 

“You’re asking me, the leader of the Night squad, why I’m not asleep right now?” He draws with mock hurt. “And I thought we’re besties!”

“We are.” Kun shrugs and stops the chair abruptly to make Ten face him. “That’s why I hate your annoying ass. Tell me why you’re here or get out. Just because the rest of your department are nocturnal, doesn’t mean you are too.”

Ten rolls his eyes and stands up, crossing his arms on his chest. 

“I need your advice.”

Kun blinks slowly and straightens up, mirroring Ten’s stance. Ten secretly hates that he nails the whole power pose thing in a heartbeat when it took Ten months to do it in a way that doesn’t make Johnny snort and start joking about sticks up Ten’s ass.

“It must be pretty urgent.” Kun tilts his head and purses his lips. 

“There’s a new mission. We’re supposed to move out in the morning,” Ten informs him, swallowing. He’s not nervous. He doesn’t do nervous. 

Kun still notices it. 

“Spill.”

Ten suddenly feels hesitant. He knows he came here himself, against Mark’s advice, and it’s not that much of a secret mission — certainly not enough security level not to talk to another agent about it, more so, to another squad leader — but the fact that he doesn’t know the full extent of what he needs just serves to remind him that he will probably never shake off that constant underwhelming feeling of being not enough. 

Not enough of a human to be put up for adoption. Not enough of a creature to be trained like the others. Not enough of a something to be treated like everyone else. Humanity and magic folk have been cohabitating peacefully for centuries but they still somehow haven’t figured out what they feel about shapeshifters. He clicks his tongue and decides to do what he’s been doing since he was conscious enough to know he can only rely on himself — power through it. 

“We’re supposed to retrieve another TOUCH team,” he starts, worrying his lip. “From Seoul headquarters. Apparently, their leader went awol and took them with him, but there’s intel that the team isn’t too ecstatic about being walking targets. My assignment is to take out the leader and get the team to Seoul, and figure out the rest as we get there.”

Kun frowns and props himself against the table, rubbing his chin. 

“But isn’t that too long a way for you to go?” He asks, and it’s a testament of how alike they are that it was the same question Ten asked first when Jennie presented him with the task. “We’re in freaking US, man. What’s the point of sending you there? I can think of five other departments off the top of my head that would be closer.”

Ten shrugs and rubs his neck. 

“It was literally the first thing I asked.” Ten sighs. “But Jennie just said the order came from the main HQ, and who are we to argue?”

Kun nods in agreement, and they don’t say it out loud but they both think of it — main HQ are mad fuckwads, that’s what they are. Ten hates when he gets assignments from them, because those always mean some shit he would rather not involve his team in. But alas, it’s hard to argue with the people paying your bills, no matter how crazy their orders are. 

“Anyway,” Kun calls out, carding a hand through his hair. “What do you need from me?”

Here comes the tricky part. 

Because you see, the things in the world are going great. Apart from the bane of Ten’s existence — the reluctance to classify shapeshifters and a string of other hybrid species as fully-fledged and able members of society — it’s pretty chill. Everybody respects everybody, all the races live in peace and uphold each other’s boundaries, and you can even meet a decent amount of people who are actually aware of the traditions and customs of the creatures. Apart from one catch. 

“They have a morgen,” he breathes out, gripping his arms. 

Kun freezes. 

“You’re kidding me.”

“I wish I was.”

Kun stares at him as Ten holds his gaze. He gets it. It took him about twenty minutes to process it. He hopes Kun gets through it faster, considering it’s his relative race they’re talking about. Extremely fucking rare one, too, which is that one achievement of humanity they tend to hush up. It’s been a few decades, but some merpeople still hold a grudge. Ten would too if someone next to him on the evolution tree was wiped out or condemned to slavery. 

“Shit,” Kun breathes out, rubbing his face. “Thank fuck Jisung isn’t here. His grandmother was killed in that hell.”

It doesn’t go unnoticed to Ten how his voice wavers on the “killed.” It might be worse, but it’s not his story to tell. Ten purses his lips. Jisung is a sweet kid, even if he uses his siren powers to trick everyone into giving him various training lessons. If he ever wants to share his story, he will. If not — it’s not anyone’s business. The thing Ten loves the most about the TOUCH is that you get to keep your privacy with other agents as long as the company knows every small detail about you. 

“Listen, I just don’t know if I’m fully equipped to handle them when we retrieve the team.” Ten kneads his palms and swallows. “My squad aren’t the most tactful people, and yes, they’re not perverts, but they still can fuck up or… Like, we’re not even supposed to touch them, right?”

Kun looks up at him tiredly and arches his eyebrow. 

“Would _you_ want to be treated like fucking glass which would only remind you that your race is almost extinct?” The sarcasm is so hard in this one Ten almost wants to punch him. He groans and throws his head back.

“See!” He exclaims, looking back at Kun. “That’s what I’m talking about. I have no clue what I’m getting into, and the only info Jennie supplied me with is their basic profiles. No track records, no background, nothing. Just names and races.”

Kun looks at him for a few seconds before making a crackling sound — which Ten assumes is some Merlingua curse — and turning to the computer. He clicks a few buttons, and Ten sees a huge profile pull up on the screen, the same damn unknown symbols littering the picture of a beautiful woman, her hair woven with lotuses as she brushes it with a crystal comb, smiling seductively. 

“Morgens were a huge deal in Welsh area around five centuries ago, from which they migrated to the Japanese coasts,” Kun starts, skimming through the texts. “Closely related to sirens, but kinda sitting apart from the family tree. They were always a rare breed, mostly because they don’t exist to procreate. And if sirens went pretty hard on the whole seducing thing, Morgens preferred to stay in their lane and just upkeep their territory in peace. They loved art, you know? There are whole galleries dedicated to the corral sculptures they made and other things they created under the sea. Anyway, just like a lot of us, they used to be immortal, but as this thing goes, the industrial revolution hit, the humans started pushing the magic out with technology, and, just like the majority of the creature folk, they slowly became mortal. Still, it was all going okay, mostly because they didn’t interact with humans and preferred to stay on the islands, until the second half of the twentieth century. They didn’t really have a regal system, per se, but they still had the one they respected and technically considered their queen.”

Ten watches on as another picture appears on the screen, this one not a drawing, but an actual photograph of a beautiful girl, her face young and fresh, the unmistakable glint to her eyes that all the merfolk have, tainted with gentle warm feeling as she looks at a man next to her. The man is looking at the camera, his hands around her waist, a smile under the mustache ruining the serious image he’s trying to appear as. Ten isn’t an expert but even he can tell — they’re in love. 

“They called her Xiu,” Kun says sadly, and Ten sees tears in his eyes. 

Of course. It’s not just Jisung whose race is related to the Morgens. All the merfolk are somehow family, in blood or lore, and they all feel the pain of their friends as if it were their own. Ten wonders sometimes how it is — to be connected to someone without ever knowing them. To have a bond. To feel loved just with a single touch. 

He shakes his head. It’s not about him. 

“I read about it in the history books,” he says quietly, looking over Xiu’s face and wondering if she ever regretted her choices. “She fell in love with a human?”

“Not just any human.” Kun expands the picture on the man’s face, and a pop-up of his data appears. “He was a Japanese admiral. He met her during his travels and fell so hard he refused to ever go back on land. It’s pretty hazy from that point on, but apparently, he had a wife that had relations in the royal family. And they got real pissed. The result is what we have now — almost complete annihilation of the race. They caught every single morgen they could find and used them as sex slaves during their petty human war. Later on, those who survived disappeared into the wind and have been popping up here and there over the years, but they’re very distrustful.”

“And now I have one on a fucking special force team in Seoul,” Ten says grimly, feeling a headache form itself behind his eyelids. 

“Yeah, what’s up with that, by the way?” Kun frowns, flipping through the text at a speed that is giving Ten whiplash. “I’d expect to find a morgen anywhere but in TOUCH.”

Ten swallows and looks at his phone, a notification about someone racking up their kitchen distracting him from the story. He sighs, thinking that if Johnny triggered the intruder alert by raiding the fridge after his “run” again, he’s going to lock him up in a basement with Mark and see how he likes that. They’ll probably rip each other’s throats by the tenth minute, but yay regeneration. 

“Could you send this over to my pad?” He sighs and looks at the screen again. “And in a language I can understand, preferably.”

Kun blinks at him and straightens up, measuring him with his eyes. 

“Sure,” he draws. “But the main thing you need to know here is to see them like everyone else. They’re not the Morgen you need to treat like they’re a special snowflake, they’re a member of a team whose leader went batshit and which needs retrieving.”

Ten purses his lips and goes to the exit, typing away a text with an elaborate threat to Johnny’s wellbeing.

“Hey, what about the leader, though?” Kun calls out, and Ten waves him off, not looking up. 

“Just some fairy,” he says, not even bothered about that too much. “Easy hit.”

He hears Kun chuckle and murmur something under his breath in Merlingua again, but whatever. It won’t be the first fairy Ten encounters, and it will certainly not be the first fairy he has to kill. They may seem intimidating to someone, what with all the pheromones and entrancing powers, their impressive heritage providing a good foundation for a career either in real estate or secret service, but Ten has an advantage. 

Shapeshifters may be hybrids that people rarely take seriously, but they’re still magic folk, and their specialty is never being themselves. 

Fairies can see through the disguise, but no matter how many faces of Ten’s that runaway guy can feel to be false, Ten still has a sharp mind and a cold heart. And that one always remembers its task and will never yield, and he knows that his body can be beaten and broken a hundred times over, but his soul will always hold up its defenses, and if the fairy tries to break through them — that is where he will meet his downfall. 

**May 19, 2019**

_Seoul, South Korea_

Something’s wrong. 

The intel said the target is an agent like the rest of them, moreso — he’s another leader, just like Ten, and you don’t get your own team at TOUCH unless you’re an unkillable skilled fucker with a death wish. 

Ten wouldn’t be standing in plain sight near the window if he knew there was a bounty on his head. He tries to see any movement in the man, but it’s hard to say if he’s even breathing, his body covered by the shadow from a nearby building. A dummy, maybe? But no, he distinctly saw him move. 

_“You can take the shot anytime now, princess,”_ Johnny crackles in the earphone, and Ten seethes. Insubordinate dick. Still would die for him, though. 

“Something’s wrong,” he whispers his own suspicion, feeling more uneasy by the minute. The guy by the window isn’t moving. 

He finally shifts, yet not to get away from the window, but to slowly turn around, facing Ten, his head titled as he watches him. 

No. Shit. The cold is getting to his head. There’s no way the fairy can see him from that distance in pitch black darkness. Fairies don’t see in the dark. Do they? They probably do. He knows they can see for miles if they lock in on a target, but there’s no way that guy knows how Ten looks like, especially now that he’s wearing someone else’s face.

“Are you covering all the exits?” He whispers softly, knowing the boys will still hear him. 

Johnny and Mark are on the doors, Hendery is securing the roof, and Yangyang is in the van, doing the obligatory surveillance duty that all the trainees have to get through no matter how much they whine about “being ready.” You’re never ready for what waits for you in the field. 

There’s a chorus of affirmative hums in the earphone, but something is still making his skin crawl. 

Fuck. If there was a way to contact someone from the fairy’s team… They’re the ones who want to be rescued, they could help them out. But everything is quiet in the room, not even a whisper getting through the mic Johnny installed near their door. 

He’s thinking too much, and he can almost hear Yuta’s voice in his head, telling him to cast aside all doubt and do the job. Ah, Yuta. That fucker. 

**May 18, 2019**

_Seoul, South Korea_

_Safehouse_

Yuta looks really unimpressed. Ten recognizes the expression. He’s been spending too much time with Kun. 

“Aren’t you one of the smartest agents?” He asks sarcastically. Ten seethes. 

“I am.”

Johnny snorts from behind him. Ten throws a bagel at him. 

“Then why are you calling me up in the middle of the night to ask about my heritage?” Yuta asks with his lips pursed, something sizzling off screen. He’s probably cooking some potion even now. 

“It’s morning here. And like you ever sleep.” Ten rolls his eyes, knowing that Yuta is just being a bitch. He’s never seen the witch catching a whiff of rest. And they’ve known each other for years. “And I just wanted to make sure I got it right.”

Yuta sighs and looks at something on his right before there’s a metallic sound, and all the sizzling and boiling dies out. He gets back on screen and clicks his tongue. 

“You think his team is going to fuck you over, don’t you?” He asks, serious this time, and Ten sighs. 

“I’m just covering all the possibilities.” He jerks his shoulder and squeezes his eyes. Yeah, he really needs to sleep. The jet lag isn’t a joke. “They’re all one way or another connected to the hypnotic magic, and I don’t want to drag my team into a lair of damn illusionists without making sure I know what I’m facing. I know my fair share about incubi and elves, but this huli jing… It’s more down your lane.”

He doesn’t mention the morgen. That’s another headache. 

“Didn’t you get the briefing?” Yuta asks hesitantly, scratching his neck. “And like, the education?”

“I did.” Ten tries not to be annoyed. “But it’s still better to get the info from the natives.”

“Huli jing is not kitsune, Ten,” Yuta explains slowly, and Ten doesn’t even care that he’s being talked to like a kid. He’ll take all the info he can get. “And don’t give me that ‘you’re both nine-tailed foxes’ shit. It’s different magic centers, and you know it. I don’t go comparing Mark and Hendery, do I?”

“And you’re right to do so!” Johnny calls out, and it’s his luck Ten has run out of bagels to throw at him. “Hendery is a graceful jiangshi, and Mark is just a bloodsucking hoe.”

Ten turns around just in time to see Mark drop a box of bullets on Johnny’s crotch with the sweetest smile. 

“Hendery is literally a hopping vampire,” he seethes as Johnny’s eyes go yellow, his lips parting to reveal canine teeth. Ten sighs. “I’m the same vampire, just a more poised one.”

Hendery appears from another room with a sad face. 

“Hey, man, don’t involve me in your shit,” he asks quietly before popping back in to continue cooking up whatever they’re doing there with Yangyang. 

“Sorry!” Mark calls out with a guilty face before turning back to Johnny and pointing a finger at him. “Shut up and go take a shower. You reek of wolf.”

He disappears in the closet, taking out the ammunition they hid there yesterday as Johnny is still softly growling at him from the couch. 

“That’s my natural scent, you bloody lollipop.”

Ten proceeds to ignore it and turns back to Yuta, who took the distraction as an opportunity to take out his phone and immerse himself in what Ten doesn’t doubt is another fucking witch blog.

“Yuta, focus,” he asks. The mission hasn’t even started properly yet, but he’s already mentally done with it. “Tell me more about the huli jing.”

Yuta drops his phone on the table dramatically and clears his throat. 

“Listen, there’s not much I can tell you apart from the fact you need to go in there being sure of yourself,” he says. “If you called me wanting to know how to kill a huli jing, I will not tell you. I know how, but don’t expect me to go about revealing all the secrets to you. Your assignment was to kill the leader, retrieve the team. Suck it up and do the job.”

“I don’t want to kill him,” Ten breathes out in exasperation. “I just want to know how to hold him down if it comes down to it.”

Yuta laughs loudly, throwing his head back, and Ten grips the table. He’s really not in the mood for this. 

“Unless you can find someone to fall in love with him, you’re fucked,” Yuta says when he’s calmed down enough. “We’re talking about a creature with an ancient magic here, Ten. And if most of us lost the immortality, the animalistic kinds still have that spiritual trick where you can’t take us out by force or cunning mind. It has to be love, man. That’s why I’m not afraid of dying unexpectedly.”

Ten leans back in his chair, resigned to an obvious truth — he’s not getting anything out of Yuta. For a fox, he can be a secretive bitch. 

“I don’t buy it,” he finally says. “There’s always something.”

Yuta shakes his head and pulls out a joint, lighting it up and taking a drag. That’s how Ten knows he’s about to be hung up on. 

“Did you get the iron shells I transferred?” Yuta asks calmly, and Ten can practically hear him closing off. 

“Yeah, thanks,” he murmurs. Iron burns fairies. Iron bullets bewitched by the bitchiest kitsune witch in the San Francisco department of TOUCH kill fairies. Here. That easy. 

“Use them wisely,” Yuta advises, the smoke covering him from view. “And always remember the assignment. Fairies sense that shit, and get affected by negativity. Especially a murderous intent.”

Ten nods simply, not really in the mood to be listening to a lecture on a topic he didn’t call to find out about. 

“One more thing,” Yuta says, blowing the smoke out of the camera to let Ten see him more clearly. “Whatever happens, don’t let him get to your head, Ten.”

“I won’t even talk to him if it all goes right,” Ten contradicts, frowning. “I know they have this enticing voodoo, but I’m not just some common idiot.”

Yuta smirks and shakes his head again, rubbing his lip with his thumb and taking another drag. 

“It’s not about that, darling,” he drawls, looking at Ten like he’s either really amused or really sad. “Fairies… They have a way with words. And hearts.”

Ten barely restricts himself from rolling his eyes and sighs instead. He knows his fair share about love magic, and if experience taught him something is that he’s not prone to falling for every fucker that sprays his pheromones around. He licks his lips and waves at the camera. 

“Thanks for virtually nothing, Yuta. Have a good night.”

“Bye, Ten,” Yuta murmurs. “Don’t fuck up.”

Ten hangs up then, closing his eyes and trying to decide if he should rest now or after this whole thing is done.

Ah fuck it, he needs a nap. 

He looks at the picture of the guy he’s shifting into tomorrow as he lies in the darkness, the sounds of Johnny and Mark bickering muffled by the closed door. Those two, honestly. One day they’ll either kill or fuck each other, no inbetween, and Ten isn’t sure which option he would prefer. 

He drifts away with distant foggy images of glittering tears and crying that sounds like exploding stars somewhere at the back of his mind. 

**May 19, 2019**

_Seoul, South Korea_

Alright. Time to take the shot.

He rolls his shoulders and takes a deep breath, this time a final one before he pulls the trigger. The rest of the world fades away as he focuses on the rifle, the sounds of the street falling silent as the only thing he listens to is his own breath. He’s done this before. He can do it again. He just needs the fucker to step into the streetlamp light to make sure he’s taking out the fairy and not one of his unlucky teammates. As if sensing his thought, the man before the window moves forward, and then something happens. 

The hair on the back of his neck stands up. The man takes a step into the light, and Ten sees something behind his back — white fur, a tail the color of fox ears on his head. At the same time Ten realizes it’s the huli jing and not the fairy, there’s a sound of gravel from behind him that comes slamming into his mind, breaking through his concentration. 

He quickly rolls on his back, holding the rifle before him, but there’s not really a point, seeing as he has a glock pointed at him. He freezes. 

The man across from him isn’t moving either. Ten recognizes him. Spent enough time studying the file to memorize the sharp jawline and delicate features. Even if it wasn’t the appearance, it would be the smell. Sweet and fresh. Ten grits his teeth. 

“Nice mask,” the man says, and his voice is of that gentle shade Ten should have expected of any fairy. “I can still see you.”

His eyes light up with golden, and Ten clenches his jaw. All the disguise bullshit sent to hell with this one.

Ten almost misses the way the fairy’s eyes widen as he sees Ten’s real face, but he quickly composes himself, gripping the gun even tighter. It’s strange. He’s supposed to be a leader of a task force, yet something about the way he’s holding his weapon is off.

“It doesn’t matter,” the fairy whispers to himself almost inaudibly, and Ten frowns but doesn’t let it affect him. The mind games won’t fly with him. 

“Nothing personal, man,” he grunts, pursing his lips. “But I have a bounty on your head, and I’m not really in a position to negotiate. I got an assignment. You know how it goes.”

He tightens his grip on the trigger and exhales, ready to take the shot. 

“I need your help.”

Ten freezes. The fuck?

He can hear Johnny being as confused and vocal about it in the earphone, but he ignores it in favor of staring the fairy down. 

“Come again?”

Why the fuck is he even talking to him? Gods.

The fairy swallows and inhales sharply, and Ten notices something in his eyes. Something he knows damn well. Something he’s been seeing in the mirror for the good part of his adolescence. Something that makes his heart skip a beat when he promised himself he won’t yield. 

Desperation.

The fairy lowers his gun, letting his hand fall down to his side weakly. 

“My name is Lee Taeyong,” he says hoarsely. “There’s a breach in TOUCH. And if you don’t help me, the next bounty will be on _your_ head.”

Ten feels his finger waver on the trigger. 

Well fuck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do I really have time and energy to write TWO multichaptered fics at the same time? well,,,,we’ll see?  
> I mean,,,I don’t have an excuse. I could say I lost a bet but eh the bet was for a 200k bts/nct fairy au and I did another thing like usual.  
> so suddle up homos it’s gonna be a longass ride with a lot of pain. so the usual Alex guarantee.  
> [yell at me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara) or [anonymously](https://curiouscat.me/romulusadhara)!


	2. sandman.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dare to ever lie to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please mind the trigger warnings in the beginning notes and tags. and the time & location stamps. we going lots of flashbacks

_[Liu Yangyang](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara/status/1123618053315530753)_

> **race** : mare 

> **age** : 23 

> **position** : trainee in the _Nocturnal Department_ of the San Francisco branch of TOUCH 

> **relations** : Düsseldorf Night Creatures Clan 

> **education** : TOUCH Academy SpecOp School (Berlin HQ)

### 2

**September 19, 2018, 13:56**

_Berlin, Germany_

The facility looks like it’s doubling as a theatrical residence half the time, Ten thinks as he passes a pitch-black auditorium with a single shining light-bulb over the stage. He looks at his host’s back and contemplates making a snarky remark. He sighs. He’s too wound up for this shit. 

Serves him right for being an arrogant prick, a familiar voice in his head supplies, and he flinches at that even though she’s kinda right. 

“I can’t help but notice how many auditoriums you have,” he speaks up, choosing to be a polite guest for once. 

Lieutenant Schmidt turns his head to look at him without slowing down and purses his lips. 

“Our facility houses and trains a peculiar brand of night creatures, Agent,” he answers, clearing his throat. “They need a lot of space.”

“So these auditoriums are their rooms?” He wonders, frowning. He distinctly saw props and chairs in some of them, and those didn’t look like cozy beds. 

“Not exactly,” Schmidt replies as they turn the corner and stop before one of the already-familiar doors. “They’re precisely what they are supposed to be — stages.”

It seems like he wished to make a dramatic enough entrance and timed it perfectly, because as he opens the door to the biggest hall Ten’s seen so far in here, something misty and grey zooms past them and outside, aiming for the window but not making it there. 

“Krause!” Schmidt barks at the mist, his face stern as he waits for the entity to calm down and get back inside the auditorium. 

Ten follows it with his gaze, only now noticing the energy it has — someone alive in the curls of the wind and ashes. He smirks to himself. Impressive, albeit undisciplined.

They step inside, ascending the stairs to the stage, and Ten looks around, smiling as he sees dozens of similar clouds dashing about, chasing after each other and emitting whooshing sounds that echo through the room. There’s a few people too — they’re running around the stage with moulage guns, pointing them at each other and screaming out commands. 

“I thought I came here to recruit an agent,” Ten notes with a tilt of his head. “Not an actor.”

Schmidt sighs and purses his lips, his mustache looking like a very angry and very hairy caterpillar occupying the space under his nose. He claps his hands, and just like that — all the action stops, the people on stage freezing, and the mists flying up to them and turning into their anthropomorphic forms. Ten looks over their faces. Young. So fucking young. They don’t look older than Hendery, and he’s already worrying about the kid too much. 

“Cadets,” Schmidt announces sternly, and it creates a ripple effect as they all line up on the stage, the chatter dying out. 

Ten raises his eyebrows slightly to himself. So maybe not as undisciplined as he previously thought. 

“This is Agent Ten from the San Francisco Department of the Transatlantic Operative Union of Creatures and Humans,” he says pompously, and Ten catches a few cadets hiding their smirks. He gets it. He had a giggle fit when he first heard it, too. 

“You can just say ‘TOUCH’,” he notes quietly, crossing his arms on his chest to find them something to do. 

The Lieutenant ignores him, walking across the stage to assess his wards. 

“You will listen attentively to what he has to say and be respectful.” He turns to Ten and nods curtly. 

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Ten says a little louder, coming closer to the line of — fuck, teenagers, basically. 

He looks over them carefully, memorizing their facial features and behavior before two superior officers. A few loose cannons here and there, of course, as expected. Probably local troublestarters and jokers, smart enough to get away with their pranks but dumb enough not to get that their sorry assess won’t survive out there if they don’t cut it out soon. He doesn’t need those. A few obvious nerds, their faces unreadable and cold, radiating tons of knowledge and determination they poured into their studies, preparing themselves to be the heroes and saviors. He doesn’t need those, too. And finally, the rest — smart enough to stay out of trouble and adventurous enough to know where to go looking for one. He clicks his tongue quietly. 

“There is an opening in the SF department,” he says loudly, not willing to repeat himself. The whole situation already tastes bitter on his tongue. “Particularly, in my squad. New regulation states a unit has to have at least five fixed members to be considered operative, and what do you know? I have four.”

They don’t really have to know this information, but he would want to hear it if he was in their place. His first squad leader was a fucking hardass that never told his team shit, which was probably what killed him. It all could’ve been prevented if only he shared information with people who were supposed to have his back. Ten never lost sleep over his death, however, and he got an opportunity to work under someone he actually liked, so. It was a win-win scenario. Now, with his own command, he prefers to be honest and open with his team.

“Seeing as I lead the team of night creatures, I have arrived here to interview a few volunteers. Berlin Academy won the rate competition this year, and the Nocturnal Class of ‘18, in particular, greatly contributed to that.” He stops before the tallest cadet and notices his face twitching with a slight smirk. “Your class.”

If it was up to him, he wouldn’t move past the US coast. This new decree really fucked with his plans of having a bare minimum of members who were each a perfect addition to a perfect team, and when he learned he needs to have someone fifth to be cleared for duty, he was highly tempted to just pick out whoever the department offered and roll with it. His pride and perfectionism, coupled with Mark’s nagging, changed his mind and sent him out here — to the kids who managed to each score between 4.8 and 5.0 on their graduation exams. This alone was enough to feed into his overachieving tendencies and sit his ass on the plane to Germany. 

Of course, he hates when people are judged by their grades and education, but the trick with his particular line of work is that you have to be a nerd to survive. The targets they deal with won’t stop to listen to your philosophical pondering of the corruption of capitalistic society. You have to know what’s in front of you to deal with it, and the TOUCH Academy, to its name, provides the best education even for those who won’t continue their career in the agency. So yes, he does value his team members being smart and educated, and so now he’s here, looking at the best cadets Germany has to offer. He studied their personal files on his way over, and their ratings are amazing. 

The one standing before him now is the best in his class, and Ten gets it — senses it in the way he holds himself and looks at Ten, his eagerness to showcase his abilities spilling at the brink. Too needy. He looks to his left, the spot people like him usually place their best friends — and he would know because that’s where he used to place his own acquaintances. 

He knows how it goes. The poster boy and the boy in his shadow. This never ends well. If he didn’t snap out of it in time, he wouldn’t be where he is. He wouldn’t know what it is to have actual friends and not those who just want a piece of your glory. He sighs. 

“The job isn’t easy,” he says, walking away and back to the center to face them all. “But it’s also fun as all fucks.”

He hears Schmidt clear his throat but ignores it. If one of these guys will be on his team, they should know beforehand what’s expecting them. Besides, speaking informally always creates a false sense of trust, and he needs to see which one of these barely-rookies will fall for it. Some of them snicker quietly. Interesting. 

“I need someone with field training. Meaning a good fighter, gunslinger, and quick thinker,” he starts the list he’s been compiling in his head for the last two weeks. “Technically adept but not enough of a genius to get into my main technician’s way. He’s something of a prodigy, so you’ll never see what’s coming for you. I don’t need that fuss.”

The fuss is putting it lightly. Mark hates it when someone is smarter than him, and even though he admits he’s not the most brilliant person on the planet, he still prefers to ignore that fact and remain the best at what he does. Ten wouldn’t call him arrogant, but he would call him a pain in his ass. 

“My unit aren’t some pencil-pushers, but I do need someone responsible enough to handle his own reports and files. Messiness and being a TOUCH agent don’t go together, no matter the stories you have undoubtedly heard.” He clicks his tongue and looks over their faces attentively again. “Good stamina and zero gag reflex.”

Someone in the crowd coughs, covering up their choking, and Ten smirks. Damn, he loves doing this to people. 

“You can’t even imagine the things you have to put in your mouths sometimes when you’re on assignment,” he explains, enjoying this way too much. “And last but not least — I need a team player. I don’t need a know-it-all overachiever with a hero complex and a death wish.”

He already has one of each, after all, but that’s not something they should know yet. His members may not be perfect people, but they’re perfect agents, and they get the job done.

“So.” He claps his hands and jerks his chin. “Volunteers?”

The entire row puts their hands up so in unison Ten feels dizzy. He smirks. 

“Alright, then.” He sighs and crosses his arms on his chest. “Let me give you all a riddle, then.”

He glances at Schmidt and sees him watching one guy in particular, his mustache performing some rituals from the look of it. He follows his gaze and notices a boy who looks almost bored to be here. Ten takes a few inconspicuous steps along the line in his direction and meets his eyes. Not bored. Pretending. He’s… Eager. But skilled enough to hide it. He wants to get out of here. He’s not German, not ethnically, his features reminiscent of Ten’s own homeland. What’s an Asian cadet doing in Berlin? Ten squints his eyes and addresses the line. 

“How do you resolve a conflict between a werewolf and a vampire?” He asks loudly. The question he’s been asking himself for the past few years, without getting a decision out of his brain that would reach at least a temporary result. Might as well use the fresh blood for this. 

He sees the overachiever raise his arm. 

“Yes?”

“What’s the nature of the conflict, sir?” He asks, looking straight ahead of himself. Ten hates how much this feels like they’re in the army. He can’t stand those guys.

“Ask me if I know,” he murmurs to myself with a sigh. “The subjects seem to have no prerogative for hating each other’s guts. From the second they met, it has been a constant prank war that, however, never resulted in death, because no matter how petty, they never crossed a line.”

“Easy, then,” the boy answers with a smirk. “It’s their nature.”

Ten feels his eyebrows fly up. He thinks he knows where this is going, and if Johnny was here, he would beat this kid’s ass for even suggesting he’s racist. Mark wouldn’t, but he’d definitely rewire his phone to play “It’s Friday” at random hours of the day and night. He did that to Johnny once, and nobody could reverse it until he snapped and bought a new phone, hiding the tampered one in Mark’s room. 

“Elaborate,” he says nevertheless, curious if this kid can surprise him. 

“Vampires and werewolves have a famously low tolerance for each other,” the guy says, successfully blowing his chances at ever joining Ten’s team. “So my guess is it’s just their blood speaking if they don’t otherwise have any issues with each other.”

Ten sighs deeply and closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Anyone else?”

“This isn’t the thirteenth century.”

He opens his eyes and finds the owner of the voice, somehow not surprised it’s the kid he noticed earlier. This one is looking directly at Ten, his eyes bright under slightly curly hair, his jaw set hard.

“The racist theory is bullshit,” the boy speaks up again, ignoring the hiss coming from the previous cadet. “Unless we’re talking about a brawl behind some bar where the creatures still prone to judging others based on their race are usually gathered.”

Ten nods thoughtfully, pouting approvingly. 

“What’s your answer, then?” 

“I don’t have one.” The guy shrugs as Ten blinks in surprise. “And neither do you.”

If this were different circumstances, Ten would dramatically gasp. Instead, he just chuckles and steps closer. 

“What makes you so sure?” He asks, tilting his head with a smirk. 

“Every conflict that lasts longer than a fistfight is rooted in emotions,” the cadet says, drilling Ten with his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what race they are. Everyone feels and experiences emotions, and therefore, this riddle doesn’t have an admissible answer. You only gave us a worthless piece of information. You didn’t elaborate on who they are as people. Which is why it is impossible to even try and pinpoint the origin of their disagreement.”

If only this guy knew that even knowing those two idiots perfectly doesn’t provide a shred of light on why they’re always at each other’s throats. 

He’s still right, though. 

“Your name and GPA?” Ten asks calmly, already feeling they’re going to get along. 

“Liu Yangyang, four point ninety-nine, sir.”

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Ten how he pauses a little before the ‘sir’. A smartass with an authority issue? It’s like looking in the mirror. 

“Why not five?” 

Someone snickers in the line, and Ten glances at them angrily before looking back at Yangyang and noticing a tinge of red on his cheekbones. 

“There was a slight issue with one of my examiners,” Yangyang says quietly, his gaze hardening. 

“Which was?” Ten frowns. 

“I’m a mare, sir,” Yangyang grits out. 

Ten’s brain instantly supplies the flashcard — a nightmare-inducing entity with a penchant for sitting on people back in the day. With the changes in the world came the changes in creatures, and they may not sit on their victims’ chests anymore, but they still can give you a hell of an acid trip if they want. They also see people’s greatest fears and can use it to their advantage. He always wanted one on his team, damn. 

“One of my examiners was a Polish human,” Yangyang continues grimly. “They have an old tradition over there that I believed to be dead, which is why I wasn’t prepared when she poured her coffee on me in the middle of me working on her mind.”

Ten can’t help himself and snorts, covering it up with a cough. He knows this one — you have to eat coffee grounds if you want to repulse a mare, and apparently, she took it too literally. And forgot it’s a ruse. 

“Well.” Ten clears his throat and notes with some portion of relief that Yangyang is more annoyed by the memory than embarrassed. “At least she chose the less controversial method. I’m guessing the coffee was better than her smearing her feces on you.”

A smile breaks out on Yangyang’s face, but he quickly wipes it away, letting it, however, stay in the glint of his eyes. 

“That is correct, sir,” he answers quietly. 

Ten decides here and there that he likes the kid. He turns to Schmidt and jerks his chin.

“Dismissed!” Schmidt commands, and the cadets start filling out one by one with murmurs between them as they exit the stage. 

“Should I stay, sir?” Yangyang asks hesitantly, and Ten nods. 

“It’s just Ten for you, now,” he says softly. “Well, it will be after a few more questions.”

He waits until everyone is gone and asks Schmidt to wait for him outside. 

Once the door closes behind him, it’s quiet. Ten rolls on his hills, his hands behind his back as he watches Yangyang visibly relax. 

“I liked your answer,” he says with a smile. “TOUCH agents have a reputation of being cold-blooded assholes who are willing to do anything to finish the job. It’s partly true, but I make it my personal goal to ensure I have an empathic team.”

“Is this because you lack empathy outside of your work?” Yangyang asks softly, and Ten arches an eyebrow at him. 

“Already working me?” He drawls, walking around him slowly and assessing his build. Muscular enough to handle their suits, but still some work for Johnny to do once he gets the kid in the gym. 

“It’s an instinct, si— Ten. I get these surficial glimpses whenever I look at someone,” he explains, and Ten nods. It’s something he already knew, but he still wants to check the guy’s honesty. 

“Do the whole thing,” he asks, coming to stand in front of him, tilting his chin up. “Tell me my biggest fear.”

Yangyang blinks slowly, taking a deep breath, and Ten watches with curiosity how his irises fill up with black that spills over to take up all the space under his eyelids. Ten purses his lips in waiting. 

“Your worst nightmare…” The corners of his lips turn up in dark irony. “Is facing yourself. What you’ve done. What you would do if you could. You’re afraid that one day, something happens that finally lets you do what you wanted to do all your life.”

“Which is?” Ten asks quietly and swallows, shivers going up his spine. He could never put a name on this feeling, and here he is — a boy barely out of the academy, laying it all down. 

“Break the rules.” Yangyang shivers and blinks, his eyes going back to normal. “You want something to happen that will finally be a good enough reason for you to say ‘fuck it’ and do something selfish for once. And you are afraid of the said desire.”

“Nice,” Ten comments with a smirk. “I’d work on your poetic skills, but you got the gist of it.”

“It feels a lot like what I feel myself,” the boy confesses. “Which is why I’m eager to join your team.”

“Well, then.” Ten sighs and offers his palm for Yangyang to shake. “Don’t fuck up and follow my lead.”

“Should be easy enough.” Yangyang wraps his hand around his and smiles widely. 

Ten almost rolls his eyes at the enthusiasm but lets it go.

“Get your things, kid,” he says with a smirk. “You’re going to San Francisco.”

2

**May 19, 2019. 01:45**

_Seoul, South Korea_

“ _I knew you’re not the sharpest tool in the shed, but this is honestly cutting it close._ ” 

This is Johnny’s seventh attempt to get a response out of him, and just like with all the previous times, Ten successfully ignores him. He watches the fairy closely, not letting him stay behind or in front of him as they walk down the street to the apartment complex Ten was so set on shooting up a few minutes ago.

“I won’t jump you,” Taeyong says quietly, a subtle frown on him. 

“I don’t trust you,” Ten states simply, his fingers loosely placed on his gun. 

He doesn’t know why he’s going it. 

Curiosity? Perhaps. There’s something about the way Taeyong carries himself that doesn’t suggest him being a traitor. Contrary to the general belief, it’s not that easy to piss off the TOUCH bosses. The rules are flexible and relatively easy, and he must have done something truly terrifying for them to put out a call for his head. Murder of his own, spilling the company secrets, stealing from the funds — that’s the shit that can get you trialed and locked up in TOUCH, but for them to order for their own agent to be taken out? That’s something new. The main HQ may be crazy bitches, but even so, there’s something fishy here. 

The way Ten sees it — he’s either dealing with a complete psychopath or a wrongfully accused man. And either way, yeah, he’s fucking curious. 

He sees Taeyong steal a glance at his face and flinch. Ten almost feels offended. The guy he’s wearing is a decent businessman, his memories floating somewhere behind the mental block Ten always puts out before posing as someone as not to pry too much.

“Don’t like what you see?” He asks coldly as they reach the building and turn the corner. 

“I prefer people to be real,” Taeyong murmurs, but before Ten can answer that, he flings his arm before Taeyong, successfully stopping him from getting caught in one of Mark’s booby traps. 

Taeyong frowns and steps away, unhappy with their contact, but Ten just rolls his eyes and whistles. After a few seconds, Mark steps out of the shadows of the entrance, his face angry. 

“I almost got him,” he mumbles, looking at Taeyong, his fangs peeking out from his scowl as he picks up a can with a tiny electrocuting device inside. 

Ten purses his lips. 

“I want to hear what he has to say first,” he says simply, and yeah, he fucking knows Mark doesn’t approve, but he’s the boss here, so sue him for not wanting to take the life of a man that can be innocent. 

There’s also a matter of ‘the breach.’ He wouldn’t call himself a blind company follower, because there are quite a few things he would change about the way TOUCH handles things, but it’s still hard for him to believe there might be a traitor in the higher-ups. 

Mark bares his teeth but stands down, taking his place on Ten’s left as they all go inside, taking the stairs to the fourth floor. 

Johnny meets them there, propping the wall with the most distasteful face Ten’s ever seen on him. He’s playing with the mic they installed earlier to listen in on the crew, which reminds Ten to later ask them how the fuck Taeyong managed to sneak out from the apartment without any of them noticing. The best crew in SF, his ass. Embarrassing. 

“Unclench,” Ten says tiredly, letting Taeyong enter first, wary of an ambush inside. He disappears in the apartment quietly, so it seems there are no surprises for now. 

It’s a simple two-room with a big hallway, and he watches how Taeyong goes into one of the rooms when he feels Johnny’s hand on his forearm. 

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” He asks with barely contained irritation, and Ten sighs, looking up at him. 

“I’m doing my job,” he answers simply. “Our motto is to help and protect every creature and human in need. And I won’t take the shot on his head until I’m positive it’s the right thing to do.”

Johnny snorts sarcastically and tightens his grip, whispering feverishly. 

“It’s not just some common assignment, Ten. He is holding a _morgen_ hostage. He’s trying to convince you the company is against him. He’s a _fairy_ , and I don’t know a more deceitful kind.”

Ten opens his mouth to respond, but Mark steps up, forcing himself between Johnny and Ten, separating them and pushing Johnny away to the wall, his mouth curled up in distaste. 

“Maybe if you tried to look past your fucking dog bawl once in a while,” he seethes, breathing heavily. “You’d learn that people are defined by what they do and how they act, and not the creatures they were born as.”

Ten wants to slap them both because he can see the familiar pattern kicking in as Johnny visibly heats up and gets ready to throw insults back at Mark, and he’s witnessed too many of their fights to know that they do not have the time for one right now. 

“Both of you, shut up,” he orders, glaring at them. “And follow me. _Silently._ ”

He doesn’t wait for a response, entering the room, yet he can’t help but catch the last phrase Johnny throws at Mark: _”Are you this pressed because you genuinely believe that guy or because it’s another opportunity to be angry at me?”_

He ignores it. He should stop doing that one of these times and sit them both down to force them to work their shit out, but there is quite literally never enough time for that. The baggage between those two is too much of a mess for Ten to get into. 

The room they enter is familiar to him. He’s watched it from the other side just a few minutes ago, and his gaze gets drawn to a window where he saw the huli jing. He’s still there, sitting carelessly on the windowsill, his tails gone now, yet Ten can still see white fur peeking out from his hair. He’s watching Ten coldly, no animosity or suspicion, just calm curiosity flashing his eyes with orange. 

“Sicheng, please get away from the window,” Taeyong requests softly, eyeing Ten’s gun. “We don’t know if our guest here is the only one sent for us.”

“We do, though, don’t we?” It’s a deep honeyed voice from the corner of the room, and Ten looks there to see two men on a couch. 

Now they _do_ look like they trust Ten as much as he trusts them, and he tilts his head, figuring them out. The one who just talked is beautiful in a way that seems almost superficial, his features cut out of marble, his eyes following the movements of Ten’s hands. The man next to him seems to be more interested in Mark, frowning as he smells a vampire, slight distrust in his eyes and careful twitch of his sharpened ears giving Ten all the answers he needs. The elf — Moon Taeil. Meaning that the one next to him is Jung Jaehyun, the incubus, and now his beauty makes more sense. It’s not all him — his sharp features are real, but the longer Ten looks at him, the more he sees through the glowing glamour, noticing his appearance to be softer and not as intrusive. His staring is interrupted by Taeil leaning closer, covering Jaehyun from his view, his lips pursed as he arches an eyebrow at Ten. 

He looks away, making quick conclusions in his head. Almost all of them are here, except the morgen. 

“Where is Xiao Dejun?” Ten asks, turning back to Taeyong. 

“He prefers Xiaojun.”

There’s a rustle of clothes, and Ten looks to his right, witnessing a man step out of the bathroom, his features covered by the shadows of the room, his hands gripping his shoulders as he straightens up and meets Ten’s eyes with his head held high. Not a man. A boy. 

A morgen, barely twenty, his eyes burning with fear that he tries to hide behind his bravado, and Ten feels some primary urge to comfort him. Protect him. Help him. 

“I am not here to hurt you,” Ten reassures him, tilting his head slightly. “I am here to set things right.”

Xiaojun makes a strained sound in contradiction, taking a step closer to Taeyong and taking his forearm, looking at him with such admiration that Ten suddenly wonders if friendship is all there is. 

Fairies aren’t strangers to mind control. He can’t deny the possibility of Taeyong brainwashing everyone here into following him on an unknown crusade, and maybe his assignment was right from the beginning — Taeyong _is_ the one at fault here. 

“Is there a way for me to speak to Xiaojun alone?” Ten wonders, not really hoping for a positive answer.

“That’d be problematic,” Sicheng calls out from where he plumps on the couch near Taeil. “He’s mute.”

Xiaojun frowns and steps even closer to Taeyong, lowering his palm to intertwine their fingers. Taeyong sighs and throws a cautious look at Sicheng.

“Selective mutism,” he clarifies. “He has difficulties expressing himself in an unfamiliar environment.”

Ten frowns and throws a look at Johnny, who’s more of an expert in this that he is. If Ten remembers correctly — and he does, because some things fade but the memories of two college kids drinking their sorrows away while recounting their life stories always remain — Johnny has a pack cousin who suffered from selective mutism as a kid.

“How’s his psychic field?” Johnny asks, and ah, of course. Xiaojun can still communicate if his mind is equipped for telepathic influence.

“We didn’t have a chance to test it,” Taeyong says, pursing his lips. “I was supposed to get Xiaojun to the HQ when I learned some information that proved to be too valuable to be caught with.”

Like that’s not extremely vague. Ten feels the irritation creep up his mind and tries to contain it. He tries to put himself in Taeyong’s shoes — no matter what he’s accused of, it’s beyond doubt that he cares about his team and will protect them at all cost. That includes not trusting the guy sent to kill him from the get-go. Ten clears his throat and touches his in-ear, making sure that Yangyang and Hendery are still intact on their positions.

“‘Get Xiaojun to the HQ’,” Mark repeats, slowly walking to the window and tracing its outline with his fingers. Either looking for bugs or planting one, knowing him. “Get from where?”

Ten catches the look shooting through Taeil’s eyes as he grips Jaehyun’s hand and unconsciously moves forward to cover Sicheng. He frowns. Xiaojun is still looking at him through his fringe from where he’s hiding behind Taeyong’s arm.

“Didn’t you get the memo about us?” Taeyong frowns.

Ten lets his mind freeze for precisely a second before he kickstarts it again, fueling the gears with new information. 

Taeyong doesn’t know the extent of their assignment, at least not fully, and he is more probable to reveal the truth Ten wants if he believes Ten can actually help him. He rubs his lips and relaxes his shoulders, his hand still on the gun — let Taeyong think he’s open to conversation.

“How about we start from the beginning?” He says, raising his eyebrows. “Tell me your side of this.”

He sees Johnny sigh in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose, but he’ll get over it. He knows Ten can never do anything without making sure it’s the best possible choice. 

Taeyong glances at Xiaojun and squeezes his palm. 

“I assume you don’t know what kind of unit we are,” he starts after clearing his throat. Ten stays motionless. “We’re operatives, but unlike you, we don’t deal with weapons and stakeouts. Our bodies are our main weapons.”

“That’s basic training mantra,” Mark scoffs. He’s now sitting on the windowsill, his leg hanging in the street. 

“For you, maybe,” Jaehyun shoots from the couch, his brow furrowed. “For us, it’s literal.”

“Jae, let me,” Taeyong says softly, leading Xiaojun to the couch and signaling for Taeil to sit the boy down next to him. He turns back to Ten and crosses his arms on his chest. “We’re a unique group, as far as I know. Even if TOUCH repeated the experiment we started, I would never know, because it’s one of the best-kept secrets in the agency. The name of my team is Anteros, but some people refer to us as... Delight.”

He flinches at the same time Ten does because it sounds cringy and way too suggestive. He scrunches up his face and opens his mouth to say exactly that until it dawns on him. He blinks slowly, looking over their faces, the pieces sliding in the place. 

“An incubus,” he says, looking at Jaehyun and his companions. “A huli jing. An elf. And a fairy.”

He skips Xiaojun because only the thought of him being involved in something like that makes him sick, this… This boy, more so — the survivor of the race that was abused and used for years before they were freed. 

“You fuck your assignments,” Mark suddenly says, his voice even, and Ten jerks his head to glare at him. “What? Don’t tell me you didn’t realize it.”

Ten feels his lips twist in distaste as something bitter tastes on his tongue. 

“He’s right,” Taeyong says with a slight shrug, avoiding Ten’s eyes. “We get our targets, we go undercover, we seduce them to whatever extent the assignment requires, we get what we need. It’s not that different from what you do.”

“And nobody is forcing us to do it,” Sicheng clarifies, studying his nails. “So don’t curl your pretty mouth.”

“I don’t care what you do with your bodies,” Ten says slowly, breathing out through his nose. “But you better convince me right the fuck now that the morgen isn’t a part of this, or I swear…”

“He’s not.” Taeyong takes a hasty step towards him, and Ten steps away on instinct, not missing the way Taeyong flinches. “I swear, he’s not.”

Ten takes a deep breath, studying his face. He seems sincere. 

“Just for the record,” Taeil speaks up, his arm wrapped protectively around Xioajun’s shoulders as the boy keeps drilling Ten with his gaze. “If he was, it would be his choice, and his alone. TOUCH has some shady methods, but I don’t need to remind you how protective they are over the Consent Act.”

Right. The evaluation they pass every year that determines the job is still what they want to do and not something they’re forced to perform against their wishes. He’s right. The company wouldn’t force or let someone unwilling to work in this particular… Field. 

“Alright.” He swallows and straightens up. “Continue.”

“Xiaojun isn’t one of my members,” Taeyong says with a sigh. Ten frowns. That’s weird. “But he's still in my care, and I can’t let anything bad happen to him.”

“That’s why you put him and the others at risk by deserting?” Johnny wonders, quite appropriately, and Ten arches an eyebrow, waiting for a response. 

“Yeah,” Taeyong breathes out, his own stance strong and solid. “Our last assignment was to infiltrate a drug ring and get enough info on the bosses to destroy the whole organization. We ingratiated ourselves with a few of them and were about to report to the HQ when we found out that apart from the drug ring, they also curated a prostitution one.”

No. Ten feels the gears turning in his head, connecting the dots, and he prays to every deity he doesn’t believe in that he’s wrong. He can’t even look at the people on the couch, his eyes glued to Taeyong’s face. 

“We realized we have bigger fish to fry and stayed,” Taeyong explains. “My target was the leader’s left hand who loved to share our bed with different people, and I used it to gather enough info to put a stop to everything, until one night, he came into our room with a young fucking boy. And not just some boy…”

“A morgen,” Ten breathes out, covering his lips to keep them from shaking. “Fucking hell.”

Taeyong puts his palms together in a praying motion and steps even closer, his eyes desperate in the darkness of the room. 

“I couldn’t let him touch the boy, so I distracted him and let Xiaojun escape. The guy tried to chase after him, and so I disposed of him.”

He says it so easily, as if killing a man on the job isn’t new to him, and Ten relates to it. He knows how it is, and if the goon was willing to do the things Taeyong is accusing him of, Ten wouldn’t hesitate before slitting his throat too. 

“The whole operation got compromised,” Taeyong continues. “I managed to get my people out, grabbed Xiaojun, and hauled ass. He wouldn’t talk to me, but after a while, he told us that he isn’t the only one of the… Rare ones that were kept there. Still are, locked up against their will, most of them underage. He was new, and he was supposed to be that guy’s gift for procuring so many new faces, but I intervened before he could lay a hand on him.”

Ten releases a breath he’s been holding, relief washing over him. He looks at Xiaojun, his face dark as he finally looks away from Ten and stares at Taeyong.

“We arrived back home hoping to get backup and rescue the rest of the kids,” Taeyong says, his voice shaking. “But I got a call from my friend at HQ that someone put out an APB on me and Xiaojun. He managed to find out that they’re trying to keep me silent about what we found. Someone on the inside wants to get their hands on Xiaojun, and fuck knows what they’ll do to him.”

“You think someone in the Seoul HQ is in cahoots with the criminals?” Mark asks, his face blank. Ten guesses he’s already going over everything he knows about the people in charge of the South Korea branch. 

“From what we gathered, someone in _the Main HQ_ is,” Sicheng drawls, an angry look on him. 

“That’s bullshit,” Johnny speaks up, throwing his hands up. “Since before I can remember, the mains have been weird, but they’ve always been the most righteous people I’ve seen. They would never cover up for criminals, let alone the assholes who abuse rare-species teenagers.”

Ten notices it — a flash of pain and sorrow shooting over Taeyong’s eyes before he looks down hastily to cover his face. He grits his teeth and swallows before looking back up at Johnny. 

“There’s been a change of the brass recently,” he breathes out bitterly. “I personally know the new CEO, and he’s the most rotten fucking bastard you can imagine. I saw a few shell corps in the papers that my friend already traced to him. He’s involved in this shit.”

Ten shakes his head in disbelief, scoffing. 

“I think people would know if we got a new big boss,” he says, jerking his shoulder. “I didn’t hear about any changes.”

“What, the audibility is bad up your ass?” Sicheng asks darkly. “Seeing as that’s where you head is.”

There’s silence as Taeyong lets out a huff of breath, putting his palm over his eyes tiredly, as Ten slowly turns to look at the huli jing, his ears ringing. He blinks, lost at words. The fuck was that?

“What’s your problem?” It’s Mark, his face angry as he hops off the windowsill and comes up to the couch, his hands crossed over his chest. 

“Trust issues,” Taeyong grits out, glaring at Sicheng. “Which he will deal with if he doesn’t want to get his ass beaten.”

Sicheng scoffs, curling in on himself, Taeil immediately going to tuck him closer. He seems like a hen, gathering the others around him, their bodies instinctively curling towards the smaller man. Ten notes it away for future reference as soon as his surprise at Sicheng’s audacity passes. 

“What he meant was,” Taeyong says meanwhile, his voice a bit louder now. “Is that the change of the CEO happened quietly and unexpectedly. I didn’t learn about it myself until after we got out of Jinju, which was where the operation was held. It was… Upsetting.”

There’s more to it. Ten sees it in the sad curve of his mouth as he hugs himself, gripping his forearms. Something else happened while he was undercover. He missed something else.

“Alright, so let’s sum up.” Ten sighs and rubs his face. “You think that someone in charge of TOUCH wants to capture Xiaojun and dispose of you because they’re afraid you’re going to expose an illegal underage prostitution ring they’re covering for?”

“Pretty much.” Taeyong nods, pursing his lips. “I know it’s a lot to take in, and…”

“Why should I even believe you?” Ten interrupts him, chuckling darkly. “For all I know, you’re trying to bullshit your way out of a death penalty.”

“Fairies can’t lie,” Sicheng reminds him, but Ten just flinches at that. 

“They choose not to,” he shoots back. “Doesn’t mean they physically can’t.”

The silence settles over the room then as Ten ponders on what he just learned. Should he even believe a shred of this? Yuta warned him that fairies will tell you anything if it gets them out of trouble. Taeyong doesn’t look like someone evil, quite the opposite — he seems kind and pliant, which is exactly the reason Ten doesn’t trust him. Something doesn’t add up. 

On the other hand, the assignment he received was as vague as it could get. He didn’t even know — and still doesn’t — what Taeyong is accused of. He doesn’t know shit about him, all the info in the file classified beyond decryption. Even his team — who, by the way, were supposedly the ones who contacted their superiors asking for help — are dark sheep to him, their data limited to names and races.

He is, quite literally, stepping into unfamiliar territory, and something deep inside him knows that he will never forgive himself if he makes a wrong choice now. 

“I need your help,” Taeyong says softly. “I hid the papers with all the evidence before leaving, and retrieving them is the only way we can save the rest of those poor kids and clear my name. Fuck, I don’t even care if everybody still thinks I’m a traitor, but somewhere out there, there’s a bunch of scared teenagers forced to satisfy criminals.”

Ten swallows hard, his heart breaking over even a hypothetical thought of Taeyong telling the truth. He isn’t even sure he believes him, but his hands are already itching to see vengeance on monsters who dared to touch underage kids and capture them, and do fuck knows what to their bodies and minds. He rubs his eyes and wishes he was in his own body for this. Shifting into someone and staying in their form for too long always makes him feel like he’s wearing a diving suit in the summer heat, and it messes with his head too much. 

He’s faced with a choice now, his mind racing, and as he looks at Taeyong, his eyes pleading as they hide the pain Ten is sure he didn’t share even half of, he finds himself lost. 

Fucking hell. 

2

**May 19, 2019. 02:39**

_Seoul, South Korea_

“Raise your hand if you call bullshit,” is the first thing that Johnny says when they enter the adjoining room, his hand up in the air.

Ten glares at him and looks back into the living room, checking that Yangyang and Hendery can manage looking after their prisoner companions while he talks to his dumbass advisors. A little leadership tip: never recruit your best friend, no matter how perfect he is for the position. There’s a risk he won’t respect your command and call you a twink from time to time.

“Wiggle your tail if you’re an idiot,” Mark shoots back as he positions himself on the window again. Ten always wondered why he acts like a cat when he’s supposed to be a bat, but oh well — vampires move in mysterious ways.

“Bitch, you _know_ werewolves don’t have tails,” Johnny scoffs, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Oh, so you admit you’re an idiot?” Mark says innocently, arching his eyebrow with a smirk.

“Enough.” Ten throws his hand up when he sees Johnny open his mouth to retaliate and closes the door firmly. “I need your opinions. Short, precise, no sarcasm.”

Johnny tuts his tongue and glares at Mark before turning to Ten and schooling his face to be serious.

“I don’t trust it,” he says curtly. “There’s too many ‘classified’ factors that the fairy may be using. A secret unit, a secret mission, a secret CEO appointment. Too many secrets for my liking.”

“Well, it’s not like we’re the most open organization in the world,” Mark contradicts, his brow furrowed. “Every department has its skeletons and tricks. I doubt we’ll ever know about all of them.”

“True.” Johnny rubs his lips in thought. “But the brass change? I reckon it would be announced worldwide.”

“Not if something happened that made them hurry.” Mark drums his fingers on the window and sighs. “I do agree there’s too much shit we only know from the fairy’s words. We need a way to verify it all.”

“You think Yuta would know?” Johnny wonders, tilting his head. “He’s on the High Council.”

“He would tell us.” Mark shakes his head and looks at Ten. “Did you hear anything about it from him?”

Johnny looks at him too, blinking a little as if he forgot Ten is even here. Ten smirks to himself.

It’s the secret of handling the vertigo that is Mark and Johnny’s relationship, if whatever the fuck is happening between them can be called that. They are, virtually, enemies, eager to prank and insult the other at any convenient opportunity, but if they’re united by a task or a riddle, they become one of the most powerful duos Ten’s ever witnessed in his years in the company. It is as if whenever the argument they’re involved in doesn’t concern their distaste for each other, they become unstoppable. Ten takes pride in the fact that he’s the only one able to turn the most useless dumbass duet into a genius combo.

“No, he didn’t mention anything,” he says, rubbing his neck. “But then again, the last Council meeting was back in February. He hasn’t been to Japan since.”

“So we’re back to square one,” Mark huffs. “But for what it’s worth — I think we should help them.”

It’s like the magic spell breaks with a snap of Johnny’s fingers as he points them at Mark angrily.

“Are you dumb or just pretending? Because I know you’re smarter than that.”

Mark rolls his eyes and hops off the window, coming up to Ten.

“I saw your face when he asked you for help,” he says softly, his eyes gentle. “Even with someone else’s skin on you, it still shows in your eyes. You knew you will agree before you called us in here.”

Ten swallows and looks at Johnny, realizing that he knew about it too. But the thing about Johnny is that, no matter how much of a good friend and soldier he is, he always puts the team’s safety before the success of the mission. Right now, he’s harboring hope to change Ten’s mind and go home before they’re public enemies, too.

Ten groans and rubs his face angrily.

“This is a motherfucking ruse, I feel it,” he says heatedly, pointing his finger at the door separating them from the man messing with his mind. “He’s not telling all there is, and I wouldn’t expect anything else from a fairy, but the things he _did_ tell are enough of a reason to give them all a chance.”

“It’s about the kid, isn’t it?” Johnny sighs, picking at his utility belt to avoid meeting Ten’s eyes. “The morgen.”

“That one is obvious,” Mark says with a hum. “No matter what you decide, he’s coming with us. We need to get him to TOUCH and find a community to place him with. He needs to be with his people.”

“Which reminds me…” Ten snaps his head up, his eyes widening. “The fairy said those people keep the rares hostage, but it’s not like you can go out on the street and find a morgen. There are records and services in place that control that shit.”

There’s silence as they all think it over, and he sees the same idea appear in the air between them as Mark snaps his fingers and Johnny stands up from the couch.

“Do we have a way to verify that Xiaojun was taken from somewhere?” Johnny asks Mark, who’s already looking like he’s mentally downloading a map of every social facility in South Korea.

“If I have my laptop and time.”

Ten bites his lip and looks at the door, something heavy pressing down on his soul. Shit. He’ll have to do it.

“The plan for now is easy.” His voice turns cold and quiet as Mark and Johnny straighten up, ready to listen. “We take them in and bring them to our safehouse. Then we stall for time while Mark verifies Xiaojun’s origins. In the meanwhile, I report back to Jennie that we need a few more days to track our target. If the story doesn’t check out, we take them to the nearest prison and go home upon completing the task.”

It leaves a sour taste in his mouth for some reason, but he ignores it. It’s his job.

“And if it checks out?” Mark asks reasonably, and Ten looks down, at the palms of someone else. If he does what he needs to, he will do it with his own.

“We’ll figure it out as we go.”

2

**September 23, 2018. 17:54**

_San Francisco, US_

Yangyang looks around him, gripping his bag nervously to stop his hands from fidgeting. 

Ever since he was but a child, there was never a place he could really call home. People never stuck around. Places kept changing. Faces kept disappearing. The fears — they always stayed, but the souls carrying them always ran away from him, uncomfortable with what he saw in them when he looked hard enough. 

It’s hard to hold a conversation when you can’t shake the feeling of your interlocutor wishing to be far away from you. All the dark thoughts haunting them slipped into their speech, and they kept asking — subtly or openly — to tell them their fate. 

He’s not a fortune teller. He can’t predict the future. The only viable advice he could ever give was not to let your fears consume you and control your life. 

“Hey, new guy.”

Yang jerks a little and looks to his right, noticing a dark-haired guy waving at him with a hesitant but kind smile. He blinks, willing it away, but the vision still comes — his worst nightmare floating over his eyes. Yang doesn’t look into it. He doesn’t want to. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, making himself smile too. “I’m Yangyang.”

“Yeah, Ten told us all about you. I’m Hendery.” 

Hendery doesn’t look like he’s wary of him or will start bugging him with questions any time soon, but his excitement is palpable in the way he’s kneading his palms. He chuckles. 

“I’m sorry for staring,” he breathes out, swallowing nervously. “It’s just we don’t get new members every day.”

He wasn’t staring. Yangyang knows staring, and he wasn’t. He isn’t. He’s nice. 

“I hope I won’t get replaced in a week,” he chuckles nervously. “I literally just graduated.”

Hendery’s body seems to come alive as he transforms from a tightly-wound string into an animated entity, literally hopping closer to Yangyang and taking his bag off his shoulder. 

“Trust me, if Ten chose you, you’re worth it. So no self-doubting in this house,” he announces, leading him further into the room. “I won’t allow it.”

Yangyang laughs a little, feeling the tension in his body slip away as he watches Hendery dance around the office as if he does it every day. He probably does. 

It’s a huge open space filled up with several desks, all with monitors and devices on them. Yangyang watches the data on the screens fly around and emit beeping sounds. Maps, names, pictures — it’s all floating inside the computers as if they are living organisms. It’s fascinating. 

He notes with some surprise how many windows there is, and that is strange, considering that the Nocturnal department is located underground, which is logical since, as the name suggests, it houses creatures who operate in the night. Some of them are sensitive to sunlight, just as he is, but it seems like they still enjoy its sight — there are artificial lights on the windows that shine in a way that creates a feeling of being in an office on the twentieth floor of a skyscraper. Yangyang finds that he likes it.

Hendery keeps chattering away about how glad he is to have him here, and Yang tries to nod and hum when he has to as his mind is occupied with taking in the architecture of the department. Hendery leads him further into the office to a hallway opening up into the rooming facility with a row of doors alongside the wall. 

“This is Ten’s rooms,” Hendery says, pointing to the nearest door to the office. “Rumor is that he actually has an apartment in the city, but he still always stays here. Closer to action.”

It figures. Ten gave an impression of someone so passionate about their job it wouldn’t be surprising they actually live here. 

“The rest of us aren’t even in denial,” Hendery continues with a roll of his eyes. “So we don’t bother renting anything outside of here. Being a TOUCH agent is a lifestyle, to be honest. You can’t run away from its patterns.”

Yangyang swallows, feeling the familiar dread come in. What if he doesn’t take to it? What if he doesn’t belong here?

“So, that’s Johnny’s room,” Hendery announces as they walk down the corridor and near another door. “They’re all having a meeting, but you’ll get to talk to them soon. Johnny’s a werewolf, so don’t be alarmed if you ever go to the kitchen for a sandwich and find him on the floor eating a raw steak. He likes taking midnight runs.”

Yangyang smiles against his will, sensing the warmth in Hendery’s voice. People usually talk about their siblings that way — annoyed but still loving.

Hendery points to the room opposite of Johnny’s and smirks. 

“That’s Mark. He’s a nerd and a genius.” Hendery beckons him closer and gently touches a dent in the metal of the door. Yangyang blinks in surprise as he sees a panel slide out of place and reveal a keypad. “He installed a pass to his room, and nobody knows the code. I tried to hack it once, and it electrocuted me.”

He doesn’t sound angry at that. It’s a tone of someone who failed, found it funny, and is waiting for an opportunity to try again. 

“Mark’s a vampire, by the way,” Hendery says as the panel slides back into place and they walk further. “Johnny and he are… Let’s just say if you hear shouting from this area in the middle of the night, safely assume it’s them having another fight and go to sleep.”

Something clicks in his mind, and he opens his mouth slightly as the realization dawns on his mind. Ten’s riddle wasn’t a hypothetical situation, then. There is actually a werewolf and a vampire who don’t seem to have any reason to hate each other aside from the simple fact that they do. Rather peculiar. 

“And here’s me!” Hendery stops before another door and jumps up a little in excitement as he points at a room across from his. “You’re going to be living there, so if you ever need anything — just knock!”

He doesn’t wait for a response and walks up to Yangyang’s room, opening the door pompously and showing him inside. 

It’s a simple small apartment with two rooms, one of which is, apparently, his bedroom. There’s a wide bed and a desk with a few chairs, and another entrance into a room he’s assuming is something of a wardrobe or personal study. There’s a big dresser and a cabinet, with another door opening to a bathroom. 

It’s actually kind of cute. He’s already itching to make it cozier, to try, once again, to make his home somewhere he isn’t sure he’s going to be sticking around. 

“Thanks for the tour,” he says quietly as he comes back to the bedroom, watching Hendery dump his bag on the bed. 

“It’s okay.” He shrugs and smiles again. “The kitchen is on the other side of the facility. There’s a door leading from this hall and another one in the office. I’ll show you the rest later.”

He’s standing there, kneading his shoulders nervously, and Yangyang feels the familiar awkwardness creep in, the persistent question once again haunting his mind — is he going to ask him to look inside his mind now? Is Hendery, just like everyone else, eager to use him for his ability? 

Doing it to Ten didn’t feel weird, for some reason. Maybe because it was all a part of his job interview, and Ten didn’t seem like he was asking for his own gain. He simply wanted to test Yangyang’s worth, and he understands that, and it didn’t hurt. After the first time, Ten never asked him to use his ability again, treating him like a regular team member, and it didn’t feel forced, no, it seemed as if this is how Ten is — open and accepting. Wise and kind.

“Listen, I know this feels strange, probably,” Hendery finally says with a nervous chuckle. “New team, new home, new people. But it’s going to be okay, yeah? I really hope you’ll get used to it all and be happy here.”

Yang blinks, taken aback by such kindness, lost at what to feel or say. 

“I guess?” Is the first thing that comes to mind, and he immediately regrets it, feeling the blood rush to his face. 

Hendery doesn’t seem to find him dumb, though. He laughs and comes closer, bumping Yang’s shoulder with his fist. 

“Come on, I could really use a friend my age around here,” he says with a shy smile. “The guys are my everything, to be honest, but still. They’re all much older than me. Give a baby vampire a chance?”

Yangyang watches in wonder how Hendery desperately tries to pout, but it looks more like he’s trying to take the most fuckboi picture to ever grace this planet. Yang can’t help it and laughs, shoving at Hendery’s shoulder. 

“I’ll do everything you want if you stop making that face,” he breathes out with a laugh. “You look like an idiot.”

An alarm starts going off in his head at that, but before he can overanalyze it and have an anxiety attack, Hendery throws his head back and laughs. 

“You’re already insulting me, see!” He exclaims, jumping up a little. “We’re on a path to be best friends.”

It sounds terrifying. To find someone he could call that and mean it. 

He makes himself suck it up and smile. He’ll be fine here. He will. He just needs to trust the man who flew half the world to take him into his team and this excited little guy here, so eager to be his friend and help him adjust. 

He still feels frightened, but it’s seasoned with anticipation to open a whole new world to himself. And judging by the way Hendery’s eyes light up, he will have a companion for that particular journey. 

He really doesn’t mind. 

2

**May 19, 2019. 02:39**

_Seoul, South Korea_

He exchanges a look with Hendery and sighs as he sits down on an armchair across from their mismatched company of pseudo-prisoners. Hendery takes his place at the window to be the lookout. 

The leader — fairy — is engrossed in a conversation with the elf, their voices hushed in the corner of the room. He doesn’t like them being so secretive, conspiring behind Ten’s back, and he’s about to interfere when he feels someone’s mind explode with fear. 

It’s almost intoxicating — the force of this… Dread that he feels coming from the boy tucked between the incubus and the huli jing on the couch. Xiaojun, his memory supplies. Yangyang looks at him closer, trying to determine what led to him getting scared all of a sudden. 

Xiaojun is looking at the closed door, behind which Ten is consulting with Johnny and Mark, and there’s such raw terror in his eyes that Yangyang feels it pressing on his own mood. 

“You don’t have anything to be afraid of,” he says softly, hoping to ease Xiaojun’s distress. “You’re safe with us.”

Xiaojun jerks his head to look at him angrily, but it disappears quickly as he sees kindness on his supposed enemy’s face. He frowns and looks down at his knees, hiding his palms between his thighs. Yangyang sighs and looks at Hendery again, but the jiangshi just shrugs. 

Ten said the morgen doesn’t talk. Either can’t or chooses not to, he whispered, throwing a suspicious glance at Taeyong. Ten doesn’t trust them. Nobody does, and there’s a huge reason for that, a legit one. 

He can’t help it — he sees the darkness surrounding Xiaojun’s mind, a black mist floating above him like a mood cloud he’s cursed to carry around with himself. There are ghosts of the past haunting him, and they smell like the sea. Yangyang swallows and tries to will it away, but it’s so oppressing, so strong that he doesn’t even have time to build up his defenses after they’re torn down time after time. It’s nauseating. He sighs in frustration and stands up, walking up to the window and motioning for Hendery to swap places with him.

“His fears…” He explains at Hendery’s inquiring look. “They’re so chaotic I’m getting a headache.”

Hendery nods in understanding and touches his wrist before coming to take the place on the armchair. 

He looks out the window, focusing on the view of the street in favor of letting his mind dwell on someone else’s nightmares. They’re floating in the air around them, their misty essences dashing in and outside the windows, searching for a soul to prey on. Dark thoughts are so… Peculiar. They make their way even into the lightest hearts, plaguing them with their black sores of despair and terror. 

He knows terror. He was born out of it, manifested into this world on the ashes of a ruined land, his soul and mind appearing because something terrible had happened, and he knows it wasn’t his fault nor desire but the guilt never left his heart. He remembers his first days on this Earth. Death and destruction all around him, his small body appearing out of thin air after an earthquake, and all those people around who knew what he is but still blamed him as if he was the reason for the disaster and not its consequence. They were the one who brought him into the world. Their grief and pain coming together to birth a mare that will forever carry the memories of the tragedy that created him. 

He jerks his chin to distract himself from dark thoughts and looks at the couch. The morgen isn’t looking at him, his face turned to his guardian. Jaehyun, Yangyang recalls. The incubus. His eyes are soft now as he whispers something to Xiaojun, with Sicheng on the other side of him stroking his arm in a soothing motion. They care about him. They love him. 

It’s the unsettling thing about these people. They’re not just criminals brought together by a chance of fate. They’re a family, not unlike the one he is apart of, and it’s by an unfortunate turn of events that they are now considered traitors. 

Do they deserve the titles? If what they’re saying is true, then aren’t they the victims of someone else’s faults? He heard Taeyong talk to Ten over their mics, and he caught himself believing him. Wishing to help and protect. 

He sighs, taking a lungful of the fresh night air. Xiaojun has calmed down a bit now, it seems, but Yangyang still feels wary of coming closer to him. He turns to him again, surprised to find a hard gaze on himself. Xiaojun tilts his head, leaning a bit forward, hesitating. Yang swallows, suddenly nervous. He’s not going to attack them, is he? What can he even do?

Before he can overthink it, Jaehyun puts his hand on Xiaojun’s shoulder and tries to hold him back, but the morgen just shakes it off and stands up, coming up to the window. Yangyang throws a glance at Hendery, who looks as confused as Yang feels. 

Xiaojun opens his mouth slightly, but nothing comes out. He huffs in frustration and moves his lips soundlessly, drilling Yangyang with his gaze. He got a hold on his anxiety now, it feels, and Yangyang tries not to feel wary of him. He looks so young and innocent it’s a surprise he found a home with people like Taeyong and his crew. It’s a surprise he didn’t perish in the confinement of people who kidnapped him. But it’s not a surprise he’s plagued by fear. He’s seen and experienced things that make him not that different from Yangyang himself. 

“As I said,” he whispers softly. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

There’s a splash of anxiety over his eyes, but he quickly contains it, and in just a few moments, he closes his mind so firmly Yangyang can’t even accidentally see what’s happening there. It helps ease his headache, and he nods gratefully, even though he’s not sure Xiaojun did it for his benefit. 

“I know the things may look dire now, but it will get better,” he says unsurely. He wants to comfort the guy, but there’s not much he can say that will be sure info and not just his wishful thinking. “And you can…”

He doesn’t get to finish because Xiaojun grabs his hand suddenly, his fingers wrapping around Yang’s exposed wrist, and his unguarded mind almost crumbles under the onslaught of pictures that flash before his eyes. 

Wind so strong and cold it slashes the skin. Water so fast and unforgiving it doesn’t even let him take a breath before it engulfs him. Screams so raw and loud they pop his ears. Grief. 

He barely manages to stay on his feet as Hendery rips Xiaojun’s hand away, pushing him away from Yangyang and catching him in his arms. 

“The hell did he do?” He growls, gripping Yangyang’s shoulders and glaring at Sicheng, who’s now standing between them and Xiaojun. 

He catches his eyes, seeing regret there, covered by a thick layer of determination. He didn’t mean to hurt. 

“Just showed me something,” he murmurs, using Hendery’s shoulder as a crutch. “Watch them closely. I’ll be fine.”

Xiaojun tries to come closer again, but Taeyong suddenly appears, taking him by the wrist and leading him away to the corner where Taeil stands waiting with a frown. Taeyong throws an apologetic look at Yangyang, but something tells him he isn’t exactly sorry Xiaojun tried to communicate in such an unusual way. It’s what exactly he might’ve shown Yangyang that concerns him. 

There’s wasn’t many coherent images there. Just glimpses of memories — which might not even be real, because once fucking again, he isn’t a fortune teller or mindreader — but their intensity proved to be so harsh he still feels dizzy. Why did he do it? What was he trying to achieve with this? Why is Taeyong scared of what he might see in Xioajun’s mind?

There’s a loud thumping sound from the next room, and a second later the door opens to reveal Johnny with his face twisted in anger and annoyance. Yangyang almost rolls his eyes. He knows that look. 

“Yang, would you mind joining Ten and Mark for a second?” He seethes, coming into the room and crossing his arms on his chest. “Mark doesn’t think I can… Doesn’t matter. Just go, please.”

Yangyang pushes away from the window, brushing Hendery off when he tries to ask if he’s okay. He’s fine. He throws one last look at Xiaojun before disappearing into the room. 

The boy is strange, that is for sure. The question now is whether that strangeness will come to harm them. 

//

“He was trying to help, you know.” Ten says quietly after Yangyang closes the door after him. 

“And he did,” Mark responds with a shrug. “By fucking off.”

Ten looks at Yangyang pleadingly, but the boy just purses his lips in regret. He’s definitely the last person to try and make peace between Johnny and Mark. 

“What do you need me to do?” He asks instead, sitting down near Mark on the floor. 

“Here, take this.” Mark hands Yangyang an ancient-looking flip phone, his own smartphone lying on his knee. “I need to wire my phone’s signal to the flip one and call my mom.”

Ten blinks, opening his mouth to try and subtly ask what the fuck Mark is talking about since he distinctly remembers that one part of Mark’s file that mentioned his mother leaving his father when he was three and never being seen again, and he _knows_ Mark understood him when he said who he wants to call. 

“Sure,” Yangyang says unfazed, his fingers flying over the tiny keypad. “The biological mom or the godmother?”

Mark clicks his tongue and hums as he thinks, his finger on his chin. 

“Let’s go with the godmom,” he says after some contemplation. “Less trail and more links.”

“Got it.”

Ten takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he’s the one in command here. They will explain what the fuck they’re talking about if he asks. It’s easy.

But actually admitting that he doesn’t understand something and asking? Yeah, that one’s a bitch.

“What’s the number?” Yangyang asks when he’s finished clicking the buttons. 

“Routing it now,” Mark hums before the flip phone beeps three times. “There.”

It’s another minute of silent work and Ten contemplating just pouting until they talk to him, but eventually, Mark looks up at him with a stern face. 

“Alright, we did the magic, now you do the talking.” He stands up and beckons Yangyang with him, taking the flip phone and giving it to Ten. “You have three minutes from the second the call connects.”

Ten nods and readies his watch as he presses the phone to his shoulder, hearing the beeps connect him to the satellite, but instead of the usual dull tone there’s weird cracking. 

“Is it supposed to glitch?” He whispers to Mark who just rolls his eyes. 

“We used the ‘godmother’ protocol, it’s not glitching, it’s rerouting the call through seven hundred different cell phones,” he explains, and Ten breathes out, finally understanding what they meant. 

He doesn’t have time to inquire further — the call finally connects, and he hears the familiar voice grunt out a string of curses so elaborate it makes him flinch. 

“I’m happy to hear you too,” he breathes out, rolling his eyes. “Hungover again?”

“You know I don’t get hungover, kid.” It’s grumpy and mocking, but he senses the familiar tightly-hidden warmth. “Whatcha want?”

Ten bites his lip. 

Here goes. 

2

**October 10, 2018. 04:35**

_Dudelange, Luxembourg_

Ten barely has time to jump away before a fucking balcony lands on the pavement right where he was standing just a moment ago. He hisses and jumps into an alley, pressing his back to the wall and cursing under his breath, standing motionless as he waits for any sign of people in the surrounding buildings waking up. 

“What the fuck was that?” He growls into his mic, waiting very eagerly for a response from his dumbass team of idiot dumplings. 

Deep breaths. Surely, it was an inevitable and calculated risk. They’re not idiots. They’re the smartest agents out there. 

This mantra is something he has to repeat himself whenever he gets an urge to be an asshole, and he has to admit that it’s coming in handy way too often. He should probably see a therapist about those anger management issues. 

“T-that was me.”

Ten closes his eyes, taking a deep focused breath. It’s Yangyang’s first assignment, literally his first time in the field after the Academy. He deserves the benefit of the doubt. 

“The target broke out and tried to fry me up with a blowtorch,” he explains, and Ten almost chokes on air. “I fought him off but he managed to get a hold of a grenade. I caught it in time and threw it out the window.”

He recounts it all with a shaking voice, and Ten finds it really hard to stay cool and collected as he reminds himself time after time that it’s a rookie mistake, albeit a huge fucking rookie mistake, but the urge to scream is taking over his system so he turns off his mic and whisper-yells into his sleeve. 

Alright. That’s better. 

He turns the mic back on. 

“Is the target apprehended now?” He asks calmly. 

“Yes,” Yangyang responds nervously. “I knocked him out with a few suppressed phobias to the brain.”

“Good. Proceed with the assignment. I’ll take care of anyone woken up by that shit.”

//

Yangyang looks like shit when he climbs into the van and takes off his helmet. Ten tries to catch his eyes but the boy avoids them, drilling his hands with his gaze. Hendery eyes him in the rearview mirror from the driver’s seat. Mark and Johnny seem not to notice his distress, occupied by their own bickering in the corner of the van. Ten sighs. 

“What did you learn today?” He asks softly, checking over the restraints on their prisoner. Still out cold. Good. 

Yangyang clears his throat and licks his lips, tugging at his hair. He has too many nervous habits, Ten notes. They’ll need to work on that. 

“That I suck at my job?” Yangyang chuckles darkly.

“That’s bullshit,” Hendery calls out from the front. “It was an honest—”

Ten smiles in bliss as he slams the button to raise the black window separating them from the driver, effectively cutting Hendery off. He loves the kid, but this one is on him.

“Now, what you will do is stop feeling sorry for yourself and think about it professionally.”

Yangyang clicks his tongue and leans back, bumping his head over the metal wall, his teeth rattling together as they move through the smooth path of Luxembourg motorway that will take them to Belgium by morning. 

“I let my nervousness get in the way of my work,” he grits out. He’s mad, it’s obvious, but he isn’t mad at their target for breaking his hold — like most shit agents would — no, he’s mad at himself for not predicting it — just like Ten himself would. This kid is too much like him for it to turn out to be a good thing. 

“And what should you have done?” Ten asks in a patient tone. 

“Wait for backup before apprehending him myself.”

“Good.”

They’re silent for a few moments while Ten waits for him to get his thoughts together. Johnny and Mark have calmed down now, it seems, and he watches with a small smile as they softly snore with Mark’s head on Johnny’s shoulder. He takes out his phone and snaps a pic for blackmail material. Mark would lose his shit if he knew he’d fallen asleep on his archenemy, and Johnny will definitely pay money to get that picture off Ten’s phone. A win-win scenario. 

“What good am I if I can’t handle a simple task by myself?” Yangyang suddenly asks, and Ten looks at him, pursing his lips. 

“Yeah, you’re right. A fucking trainee slightly messing up a task to hold down a werewolf target. You’re useless.” He knows his voice is dripping with sarcasm too much to be considered educational, but sue him for having his own unique leadership style.

“I’m serious, Ten,” Yang breathes out in frustration. “I’m supposed to be ready for this.”

“Like hell you are,” Ten snorts. “Listen, kid. The academy is amazing, it honestly is, it gives you hands-on practical experiences, but even so, it’s just a simulation. You can never really know what it’s like out in the field until you’re actually there. I’m your leader. And I say it’s okay. So get yourself together and learn from this, because yeah, if you drop a fucking balcony again after this, I _will_ be slightly pissed. But for now, you’re good. The main thing is that you didn’t die on your first time out, so congrats.”

“Yay,” Yangyang says weakly and sighs. “So you’re not mad?”

“Nah.” Ten waves him off and smiles. “I managed to blame the balcony on the local construction firm so nobody will come looking for your sorry ass.”

“You reported it to the brass?” Yangyang asks in wonder, his eyes widening. 

“I had to.” Ten sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “We left a trail and needed it covered up. Preventive measures before the local cops can trace it back to TOUCH.”

Yangyang bites his nails and clears his throat. Jesus, the boy is like a bundle of anxiety. Ten knows how it is, and he’s not a stranger to nervous jittering himself, but he really needs to work with him on emotion control. 

“So will it reflect on our ratings?” Yangyang asks softly, and Ten scrunches up his face, resisting an urge to whine. 

“Yeah,” he drawls pathetically. “They took a one-hundredth percent. My perfect fucking score — gone with a bang!”

Yangyang hangs his head, avoiding Ten’s eyes once again, and he catches himself, realizing that his dramatism can drag Yang deeper into the pits of self-loathing. 

“Hey, it’s okay, listen,” he rushes to say. “I can live with a 4.99, I swear I can!”

“Said an overachiever,” Yangyang comments darkly. 

“To another overachiever,” Ten points out, arching his eyebrow as he leans forward to pinch his knee. “We’ll get it back up eventually, don’t worry. The main thing is that everybody is alive and in one piece.”

Yangyang doesn’t have time to answer — the window separating them from Hendery flies open to reveal a pouting jiangshi. 

“I gave you ten minutes,” he announces. “Now it’s my turn. Listen, Yangyang, you’re an angel, and we’re so happy to have you here, and…”

Ten tunes him out with a smile as he watches Yangyang barely contain his laughter at Hendery’s overplayed words of encouragement. The sun is already above the horizon, so Hendery is covered from head to toe, his words muffled by the mask covering him from the light. Ten looks to the back, making sure Mark is covered from the sun, but he’s okay, tucked safely between the corner of the van and Johnny. Yangyang is sitting in the shadow of the driver’s seat, so he’ll be okay too. 

The kid is nice. Definitely a good addition to the team, Ten thinks. 

He just needs to get him to accept that nobody is going to punish him for trying to do his job the way he was taught to. Ten knows how it is, and he went through it himself, and the two guys currently drooling over each other at the back of the van can testify to that, and so he is perfectly aware of how he needs to tread with Yangyang. 

He doesn’t give up on family. And Yangyang is its part now.

2

**May 19, 2019. 03:02**

_Seoul, South Korea_

Johnny paces the room, glancing at the closed door every other second. That fucking Maxi Pad wannabe honestly has the audacity to assume he can’t reroute a fucking phone call? Yeah, he’s an operative mainly, but he got his technical training, and hello, he grew up with a freaking witch nerd for a brother. He _knows_ how to hack a connection. Tim had a knack for technology since he was old enough to walk, and who was getting him supplies to indulge his hobbies? Johnny, that’s who. Fuck. Mark always has this ability to rile him up with a few words, as if the guy is his walking trigger in whatever he does. Which is kinda true. 

Johnny sighs and rubs his face, making himself calm down. This isn’t the first time he wanted to rip Mark’s head off, and it definitely won’t be the last. He still doesn’t know how he managed to allow Mark access to all his buttons, but now here he is — suffering through the dude pushing them whenever he gets the opportunity. 

Fucking Brest. It can all be blamed on Brest. 

“Stop, Taeil!”

He jerks his head up, noticing the commotion in the darkness of the hall. A quick check over the living room supplies that it’s Taeyong and Taeil, with Xiaojun and the other two talking quietly on the couch. Jaehyun hears the exclamation, too, his head snapping up to look at Johnny with wariness in his eyes. Johnny squints at him, tilting his head, and the guy has the audacity to bear his teeth when Johnny tries to walk closer to the hall. 

Alright, so that’s how it is. He quickly calculates it in his head — if he tries to listen in their conversation, Jaehyun will warn them somehow and stop them from talking. But if he thinks that Johnny let it go, he’ll stay put. Probably. The guy looks determined and bright. Johnny takes a deep breath and walks over to the window, joining Hendery on his watch. 

“What’s your take on this whole thing?” He asks loudly enough for Jaehyun to hear but quietly enough for it to be still considered a private conversation. 

Hendery blinks at him, sensing that something is off, but answers nevertheless. 

“I’d rather not talk about it in front of them,” he says carefully, eyeing Johnny suspiciously. 

Johnny sits down on the windowsill, hanging his leg out on the street, positioning himself in the way that covers him from Jaehyun’s view, and takes out his communicator. 

“Do tell,” he insists, glaring at Hendery to make him get a hint. 

It takes him a few moments, but he finally starts chattering away, talking about anything and everything random coming to his mind. Johnny smiles approvingly as he taps the screen a few times, reconnecting the mic he installed in the door this morning when they located the hiding place of their targets. 

Taeyong’s voice fills his in-ear, and he nods at Hendery, encouraging him to keep talking. That will make Jaehyun believe he’s engrossed in conversation. 

He tunes Hendery out — a useful habit, easily developed when you grow up and then study and work with hyperactive people — and listens to the conversation in the hall. 

“It’s him, isn’t it?” It’s Taeil, his voice urgent. 

Johnny glances at the hall and sees Taeyong scoff and try to go inside, but Taeil grabs him by the arm and drags him back in the hall. 

“Ignoring me won’t change anything,” he seethes. 

“Neither will knowing the answer,” Taeyong whispers in annoyance. “And I don’t know, okay? I’m not sure.”

“Like hell you're not,” Taeil grits out. “It’s not just a fucking random dude, Taeyong, you _know_ when you meet…”

“I don’t want to.” Taeyong breathes out and crosses his arms on his chest. “Know. I don’t want to know.”

There’s silence for a few seconds before Taeil speaks up again, his voice gentler this time. 

“It’s been so many years, Tae, you deserve to know for sure, and to…”

“Listen, it doesn’t matter.” Taeyong shrugs, looking down, a frown on his face. “This isn’t about me. It isn’t. It’s about the team, and keeping Xiaojun safe, and getting to the papers, and…”

“And about fate,” Taeil says firmly. “Fate is not to be ignored, you know it better than anyone.”

“Who says anything about ignoring? I’ll figure it out as I go. Right now, I need to work with what I have. This time the fate played against me. It’s not something new.”

Johnny watches his face turn from detached to sad and back to cold again in a few moments as he rubs his shoulders. 

“Fuck, this is the worst timing ever,” he breathes out, and Taeil rubs his back soothingly. 

“You can’t run away from it, though,” he says quietly. Taeyong chuckles darkly and looks inside the room, meeting Johnny’s eyes. Johnny doesn’t look away, unwilling to give himself away, and Taeyong tilts his head with a frown. 

“His team is interesting,” he murmurs, turning back to Taeil. “The connections they have… It’s nice.”

“In any other circumstances, I’d say not to get attached,” Taeil mumbles. “But I don’t have any advice for this one.”

They fall silent after that, coming back inside the room and joining their friends on the couch, and Johnny sighs, turning back to Hendery, who seems to have run out of material as he is now describing the color of the tiles on the building across from him. Johnny touches his arm. 

“You can stop now, thanks,” he murmurs, and Hendery breathes out. 

“Something good?” He motions slightly to the hall with his head, but Johnny just frowns. 

“Only got more confused,” he drawls. “We’ll discuss it later.”

Hendery nods in understanding and falls silent, looking out the window as Johnny himself watches Jaehyun again. The man seemed to have bought his ruse, but he’s still throwing cautious looks at him every few seconds. Johnny purses his lips. 

He doesn’t like it. At all. Ten may have a point about their moral obligation to at least give these people a chance, but this is exactly what Yuta warned them against. Fairies are a deceitful kind, and the company this particular fairy keeps isn’t the most trustworthy one. 

It all comes down to the morgen, it seems. They huddle around him like guardians, their bodies forming a circle of protection around the guy. Is it really just about his tragic story? Or does he mean something more to them? And what did Taeil mean when talking about Ten? Was it even about Ten?

Fuck. He hates it when there’s more questions than answers. 

And this was supposed to be a quick freaking assignment. 

//

Ten notes how quickly the silence falls over the living room as he comes in, finally ready to announce his decision to Taeyong. Johnny hops off the windowsill, coming to stand by his side as he throws an annoyed glance at Mark. 

“So, Taeyong,” he says firmly, watching the fairy’s movements as he steps closer. 

“Have you made your decision?” He asks, worrying his lip. “Should I announce my last wish?”

Ten chuckles darkly and rubs his eyebrow. 

“I don’t trust you,” he says openly. “Like at all. But I’ve considered the circumstances, and I will give you one chance to prove your story is real. You won’t get a second one.”

The smile that breaks out on Taeyong’s face then doesn’t look like an evil grin Ten would expect to see in some trashy 80s movie — not like he thought it would — but it’s genuine, for the first time today showing Ten that this is someone able to feel something good. It’s unsettling. He would much rather prefer him to stay gloomy and sad because that way it’s easier to remember he’s supposed to be the enemy. 

“Thank you,” he breathes out. “I promise you, I’m telling the truth.”

Interesting. It usually goes, “I promise you, you won’t regret it.” Or maybe Ten is overthinking it. Which he, by the way, should always do, or else his whole team is done for. 

“We’ll see about that,” he says instead of commenting on that choice of words and extends his hand. 

Taeyong eyes it warily, swallowing visibly as if he’s afraid to touch him. Is he expecting a fucking electrocuting device to be stapled to Ten’s palm? 

After another moment of hesitation, he carefully wraps his fingers around Ten’s, squeezing lightly. Ten feels itchy because of the alien skin, but it somehow looks as if Taeyong himself isn’t comfortable with touching the skin he knows doesn’t belong to his interlocutor. Seems weird for a guy who is supposed to thrive on deceit. 

“Alright,” Taeyong breathes out, so quietly it seems he’s talking to himself. 

Ten raises his eyebrows slightly but ignores it, gripping his palm and making him come closer so that he can see his eyes clearly. They look strange. Sad again. 

“Dare to ever lie to me,” Ten says quietly. “And it won’t be.”

Taeyong doesn’t answer, but something flashes in his irises. Surprise and… Amusement?

He nods and steps away, freeing his palm from Ten’s clutch and turning away. Ten will need to analyze his distaste for getting close to him. Is he afraid Ten will see something in him that he doesn’t want uncovered?

He turns to Hendery with a sigh. 

“Bring the van around.” 

Taeyong’s team get up from the couch, Xiaojun going to stand behind him, his fingers wrapped around Taeyong’s wrist. 

“We’re going to be okay,” he says softly, smiling to the younger. “I promise.”

Xiaojun nods shakily and measures Yangyang with his gaze, something akin to sadness flashing over his face. The fuck did Ten miss?

“Get your things,” he announces. “We’re going on a little trip.”

The movement starts up around the room, and Ten puts his hand on his gun in the holster, the feeling of the weapon under his palm grounding him. Johnny looks judgmental as fuck, but he ignores him. He knows that Ten won’t be swayed if he sets his mind on something. 

The flip phone is a light weight in his back pocket, turned off and disabled now. The words exchanged in the conversation keep replaying in his head, and he swallows, thinking about them as he watches Taeyong coordinate his team. 

_It’s not like you can fuck it up for them further, can you? Come on, kid. We both know you’re too kind for this line of work. You’ll do the right thing, even if it ends up fucking_ you _up. And well. If that happens, I’ll be there to get you out. Just like usual._

Yeah. Just like fucking usual. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m reeaaaally sorry for dragging out the update, the real life had my ass  
> I’m really excited to finally get this shit rolling! it’s going to take a few chapters to get the right pace and for the actual plot shit to start going down, but I promise even the beginning chapters are worth paying attention to. if you know my fics, you know how ocd-level I am about details and references and foreshadowing. my beta reader is honestly developing a Pavlov reaction to every vague sentence I write. (I love you sorry for dragging your ass you’re a babie)
> 
> also, I want to ask something since the fic is dealing with some heavy themes which are going to be explored further and expanded beyond those mentioned in the tags. was it enough that I put the tws at the beginning, or do you think I should rehash them every chapter, depending on which ones might be in it? I really want people to enjoy this work, and accidentally triggering someone is the last thing I wish for.  
> so, yeah. if you have any thoughts on the matter, or simply want to talk about ets or anything else, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara) or [cc](https://curiouscat.me/romulusadhara)!
> 
> and once again, I’m really grateful to everyone reading and commenting, mwah to all of you


	3. medicine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're _annoying._ "  
> "Why, thank you."

_[Wong Kun Hang [Hendery]](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara/status/1123617470336634881)_

> **race** : jiangshi [hopping vampire]

> **age** : 25 

> **position** : operative agent in the _Nocturnal Department_ of the San Francisco branch of TOUCH 

> **relations** : Macau Clan 

> **education** : TOUCH Academy SpecOp School (Shanghai HQ)

### 3

3

**March 9, 2005, 05:55**

_Cotai District, Macau Region, China_

The world always made an awful lot of sense to Kunhang. It takes what it needs, you give what you can, and then the rest unravels on its own along the way.

He looks over the sea, the breeze brushing the hair out of his eyes. It’s getting too long. Auntie will be pissed he’s delayed cutting it, but honestly, what does that old bitch know?

He can almost hear the scolding he’d get if she heard him talking like that. He knows she loves him, loves all of the kids, but she’s way too overworked and busy to provide every little shit running around in the orphanage with the love and care the city kids like to talk about. It’s hard to be an exemplary step-mother when half of the kids in your care tend to disappear for weeks at a time to pick up odd jobs in the city to try and earn enough to feed themselves and their siblings.

Kunhang huffs angrily, remembering the reprimanding he got when _he_ tried to get a job at the grocery store.

“ _You’re too young,_ ” he mutters under his breath, curling his lips in that way Auntie always does. “I’m twelve already.”

Yeah, he’s a kid, they say, but he’s also a kid who had to grow up much faster than city folks his age. He didn’t know his parents, so there was never anybody to soothe his nightmares or blow over his scraped knees. Just like how now there isn’t someone to pay for his school and food, and he’s getting tired of feeling like shit every time the older kids share their food and clothes. Auntie does her best, he knows she does, but money is tight and he wants to help. He wants to be worthy, prove himself, give her a reason to not scold him so much.

He can see the horizon firing up from where he’s sitting on the pier, and he sighs in defeat. He’ll have to leave soon and hide in his room until the sun is down. He hates spring and summertime because of this — the sun is out too much, limiting his time outside to a pathetic few hours at night. 

They say there’s something the other night creatures use to keep the effects of the sun to a minimum – special clothes, or a vampire-specific sunscreen, probably — but it’s expensive, and Auntie doesn’t always have enough money to buy everyone used clothes, let alone provide her wards with some fancy skin shit. He’ll have to sit it out, and when the night falls again, go out in search of a job. He doesn’t care what Auntie says, he can work. He knows ten-year-olds who already earn money, so why should he be any different?

The sounds of construction break him out of his thoughts, attracting his attention. They’re building a casino, Auntie says. Who ‘they’ are isn’t common knowledge, but some townsfolk say the government sold out to a Hong Kong constructor. Other people, the ones Kunhang often sees in the dark corners of Macau, claim it’s someone shadier. He wonders if he’ll find a job _there_.

The wind announces someone’s quiet steps, and he tenses, ready to flee if they’re dangerous. He doesn’t turn around, keeping his gaze trained on the crane across the shore. 

“You’re gonna catch a cold, _um pequeno_.”

‘Small one.’ Kunhang grits his teeth but doesn’t look at the newcomer. He doesn’t recognize the voice, but he deduces it’s a young woman. He catches a whiff of her in the air and feels his breath hitch. A vampire. A real one, too, not the ‘hopping parody’ the kids like to call him. There aren’t a lot of them around here, and she’s only the second one he’s ever encountered. The first one was his mother, faint memories of her plaguing his darkest nightmares.

(Auntie says his mom loved him but couldn’t bear the responsibility of a child conceived with someone her family despised. Kunhang thinks she was full of shit.)

He decides not to run straight away because she doesn’t seem that threatening, and he won’t waste the precious minutes before sunrise on being scared of a stranger.

“I’m fine here,” he mutters, knowing she’ll hear him alright.

The girl chuckles under her breath and sits down next to him on the pier. Kunhang turns his head slightly, assessing her. Blonde woman with green eyes that look at him like she knows a secret he’s about to find out. She’s dressed lightly for the morning chill, but it figures. It’s just a courtesy for the others.

“I’m Kara.”

She offers her palm to shake, and Kunhang feels rather spooked. No adult ever regarded him as someone important enough to shake hands with. No adult ever regarded him as someone important, period.

He touches her palm carefully with his fingers, imitating a handshake, wary of her grabbing him to drag him away. He’s heard stories of kids disappearing off the streets. Adults always tell them in those fake sorrowful voices that make him want to retch. He knows their sadness is fake. Everyone living in the orphanage knows that kiddy abductors only lighten the burden for their caretakers. One less mouth to feed and all that. Kids, unlike the older people, share these stories in hushed whispers, almost reverently, because for them the fear is real. Because they’re mostly the only ones that care.

“I won’t tell you my name,” he informs her as soon as his hand is tucked securely between his thighs. “I know the power it holds.”

He expects her to laugh at him, and he even imagines what it would sound like – chiming bells in the wind, like that trinket over the orphanage’s backdoor that always announces the arrival of its inhabitants, but she doesn’t. She regards him seriously with her eyes squinted.

“You’re smart, small one,” she hums.

“Stop calling me that,” he says with a frown and a twitch of his eyebrow. “I’m twelve.”

She smirks at that, nodding in thought. Irritation shoots through him. She isn’t saying or doing anything, but it feels like she’s making fun of him. Doing that thing Fenhua once told him about after she learned it reading one of her smart books. Patronizing.

“I’m one hundred and seventy-eight,” Kara informs him, smug. “And I’m not that big in size.”

He looks her over to confirm for himself, and yeah, she looks miniature. Like a porcelain doll behind the glass in one of those expensive shops. They’re never allowed to touch, but he’s been thinking about stealing it for Fenhua. Auntie hates thieves, so he keeps hesitating.

There is also something peculiar about her speech. She’s speaking fluent Portuguese to him, but she isn’t native. Something about her vowels suggests her first language isn’t Chinese, either. She’s from afar.

“Appearances are often deceitful,” Kara says, her smirk still in place. “Take pride in yours. It hides the danger within.”

“I’m not dangerous,” he says against his wishes. 

“Do you want to be?”

There’s no patronizing in her voice anymore, Kunhang notes. The question makes him wonder.

The world always made an awful lot of sense to him. Survival isn’t living, but in his mind, untamed by the philosophical notions that await him in the future, they were the same thing. You eat and work, and run and breathe, and obey and learn. You exist.

In the days to come, he will often come back to this morning on the pier and this question, and he will wonder if he would make the same choice had he known how much it would change his life, had he known that it was the only path he could really walk. He will wonder if he’d turned away from Kara, refusing her company and walking back home with empty pockets, would he have faced a bleak destiny of another kid in the slum’s statistics. He will wonder if he’d ever meet the man who became his guiding light, but only because the days will come when he will have an awful lot of desire to do nothing but wonder.

Right now, however, the question that she asked sparked an intense, internal war that only the mind of a twelve-year-old orphan boy can muster. Does he? Want to be dangerous?

Danger isn’t an unfamiliar concept to him, oh no it isn’t. Danger is hunger and cold, and those people that haunt the dark streets, and humans that look at him and see a _creature_ that is still too small to regard as something, but will inevitably grow up to be despised. And the daylight. Daylight is the most dangerous of them all because he can run away or smart his way out of everything except the ever-present power of sunlight. If he ends up under the sun – he’s cooked, quite literally.

“I want to… Live without fear,” he confesses shakily to a woman he just met.

And she gets it. He knows she does.

“I am familiar with the desire, small one,” Kara says melodically, shaking her head in a funny way that sends her short hair flying forward, covering her face with a blonde veil. “And I can show you how to fulfill it.”

_Why?_ , he wonders.

_At what price?_

“What’s your gain?” He chooses to ask instead.

Kara shrugs slightly and looks at him, squinting her eyes a little.

“Call it professional curiosity.”

He would call it that if he knew what it meant. He doesn’t want to seem stupid, though, so he just presses his lips together.

“Are you part of a clan, small one?” 

He shakes his head with a confused frown. He knows what clans are, of course, heard enough stories, but why would she even assume he can be in one of them? His clothes suggest a very successful homeless boy, at best. He picks at the hole in his jeans.

“Soon, there will be a Macau clan,” she informs him, tilting her head slightly as if she’s telling a secret. “We’re already setting up roots.”

“Where are you from?” he voices the question that’s been bugging him since she first spoke up.

“Lots of places,” she says cryptically. “I was born in South Korea. But my family came here from America. Before that, we… Traveled.”

“Are you staying here for long?”

“Forever, hopefully.” She sighs and fixes the collar of her blouse. “We’re branching out. Some of them stayed in New York, but we chose to move further.”

It is strange that she’s telling it all to him, but the soft ocean breeze and the lulling sound of her voice creates a sense of security akin to nothing he’s ever felt before.

“And why do you need me?” 

“ _We_ don’t.” She chuckles. “But _I_ think that we can use a few kids running around. It’s refreshing. Besides, we need fresh blood to liven up the clan and prepare a new generation.”

Kunhang worries his lips and makes a humming sound.

“Won’t your clan leader get mad?” He wonders, and his voice jumps into that high-pitched register he hates so much because it makes him sound like a toddler. 

Kara laughs suddenly, but there’s nothing mean to it. She is simply, as Auntie likes to say, amused.

“She won’t,” Kara assures him, arching an eyebrow. “She’s offering it to you, isn’t she?”

He suddenly feels an unfamiliar tingling in his belly. Butterflies dance in his lungs as her face in his mind’s eye turns from childlike to powerful, looming over him like he guesses a parent’s face would.

“What do you want me to do?” He asks, swallowing nervously.

“Learn, for now.” She sighs and looks over the water and to the construction site. “You have time until we open the first casino.”

“Learn what?”

She looks over his body, and he suppresses the desire to shudder. There is nothing intimidating in her gaze, but he suddenly remembers the way some men at the market look at Fenhua, their eyes lingering on her for longer now that she’s turning fifteen. Auntie says that in time, Fenhua will become something they call ‘desirable’ and warns her to never walk the streets alone. He doesn’t quite grasp the meaning of it, but even his boyish mind understands that Fenhua needs to be _careful_.

Kara sees, or rather senses, his thoughts and hurries to gasp, shaking her head.

“Nothing horrible, small one,” she hastens to assure him, and even if he doesn’t really understand it yet, it sets his heart at ease. “ _Never_ that. Not while I am alive.”

Now, he may not be an adult or even a teenager, but he knows dark haunting memories when he sees them. There is something in Kara’s past that makes her especially strict about the things she’s talking about, but it is not his place to pry. 

“Alright, then.”

She blinks a little too quickly, a disbelieving smirk tugging at her lips. 

“That easy?”

“Ain’t got nothing else to do, do I?” He chuckles and pouts a little. “But if you wanna take me home with you, you have to talk to Auntie. She runs my orphanage.”

A shadow of surprise crosses her face for a moment, and she bites her lip. 

“I didn’t think you’d agree to come with me this quickly…” She mutters to herself but shakes it off with a sharp movement of her chin. “But it’s even better this way. You’ll meet everyone today, then.”

Kunhang nods and turns back to the water, dangling his legs in the air and whistling. Someone would expect him to be shaken, or excited, or scared. But he doesn’t really feel any different from the familiar calmness of mind. Kara laughs softly near him. 

“Will you tell me your name now?” She asks, shoving him with her shoulder lightly. 

He blinks in surprise and looks up at her. He’d completely forgotten about that. 

“Kunhang,” he announces a little pompously. “But some kids call me Hendery.”

Kara leans away a little to level their faces and looks over him, her green eyes flashing with wonder. 

“Hen-dery,” she murmurs to herself. “I guess it would make sense. Want your first lesson, small one?”

He nods enthusiastically, the excitement of something new finally settling in. 

“Use ‘Hendery’ only,” she says, biting the corner of her lips – her own little habit he will come to memorize in the days to come. “Like you said, real names hold power with our folk.”

Kunhang frowns and huffs in annoyance. 

“I knew that already,” he whines. “You got anything useful, lady?”

Kara gasps dramatically, but it’s cut short by the laughter that bubbles out of her. He was right, he notes. It truly sounds like chiming bells. 

“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you,” she warns him, poking his stomach and causing it to growl embarrassingly. “Oh my, have you eaten tonight?”

He feels hot uncomfortable stones in his stomach. They always appear there when he’s forced to face the pathetically unfortunate circumstances of his life. 

“Auntie can’t always get the blood from the food bank,” he answers, swallowing heavily. “But she gets me the packs from the shop.”

“That watered-down shit?” Kara asks in disgust, her mouth curling up. “Gods, that’s literal child abuse.”

“It’s not her fault the humans run the market,” he says heatedly, turning to glare at her. “They hate my folk around here. Auntie does her best with what she’s got.”

Kara purses her lips and frowns but says no more. Kunhang looks back at the water, hanging his head and feeling thankful he can’t physically blush. After a moment, he feels a careful hand wrap around his shoulders and tug him closer. Kara smells like freshly-clean sheets, and not those in the orphanage that always come out yellow no matter how much Auntie scrubs them, but real ones — the ones he smells when he runs a little too far and ends up in the relatively rich neighborhood. Kara also smells — and this one he will remember forever — like honey. 

“The times are changing, small one,” she whispers into his hair. “Pretty soon, humans will be the ones having to answer to us. And I promise you that Auntie will not have to survive on scraps for much longer.”

He sniffs quietly, afraid that speaking will make him cry. It’s nice here, with her, and he wishes he could preserve the serenity for a little while, but the sun is almost out, and he already feels the uncomfortable cling of its distant rays to his skin. 

“We need to move,” Kara echoes his thoughts. “Come on, Hendery.”

As they stand up and leave, Kunhang throws a glance over the water again, shimmering ripples shining with red, and he wonders. 

The world always made an awful lot of sense to him. Perhaps, it’s time for the world to make sense of _him_. 

3

**May 19, 2019, 06:45**

_Seoul, South Korea_

_Safehouse_

The water rolls off Ten’s back and disappears into the drain along with the remains of his disguise skin. He frowns down at it, his exhausted mind hypnotized by the way it dissolves into water, creating small bubbles. He’ll never stop wondering about it. When he’s changing into someone, the skin sits on him like steel armor, but as soon as he sheds it, it becomes this weak mass of chemicals that crumble from simple water. It has something to do with the molecules of his muscles. He remembers the lessons in Academy and the patronizing look of professor Fuck-Knows-What as he used Ten to demonstrate the chemical abilitites of a typical shapeshifter body. Ten felt on display that day, like he was some plastic skeleton that could be poked and probed during a lesson. The professor got fired within a day, and while everybody always assumed Ten ratted him out for misconduct, he never found out who it really was. He was still grateful. 

He gets out of the shower and wipes the steam off the mirror, taking a look at his face. All in place, all as it used to be. Good. 

He has a private room in the apartment they’re using as a safehouse, and someone would call it an abuse of power, but they don’t know him and his team. Mark is always the one arranging the roomings, and Ten has long abandoned his attempts to convince the kid he doesn’t need his own space. ‘The kid’ is roughly twenty years older than him and has an unexplainable mama hen syndrome, so that’s why he takes it upon himself to make sure everyone is comfortable beyond their needs. 

Ten comes up to the table and looks over the screen of his tablet, still open at the notes app and displaying the files about the people in the living room. The ones he’s supposed to either take out or take hostage, and well, isn’t that ironic. There are no new messages, which is as much of a relief as it is worrying, so he locks it and goes to the suitcase he never unpacked to put on some clothes. 

He’s half-dressed when someone knocks on his door, and he shoots a glance toward the window on instinct. 

“Who’s there?”

There’s a beat of silence and a scuffle before he hears a soft voice. 

“It’s Taeyong.”

First thought — no need to close the window, then. The sun doesn’t hurt fairies. 

Second thought — oh, come the fuck on. 

“Come in!” He shouts, taking out a T-shirt and going to put it on himself. 

When his head emerges from the collar, Taeyong is already on this side of the door, his palms kneading each other, gaze glued to Ten’s torso. 

“Hey,” Ten calls out. “Is everything okay with your sleeping arrangements?”

Mark took it upon himself — as he always does — to get Anteros settled, and Ten decided it's for the best since he’s better skilled in accommodating people. Ten isn’t exactly antisocial, but there’s a reason he’s leading a team of creatures who operate at night, when the majority of the world is dead asleep. 

Taeyong blinks and lifts his gaze to meet Ten’s. It occurs now to Ten that this is the first time Taeyong is seeing his real face, and not just through the glamour, but actually, physically there. He wonders if it makes him feel more at ease. 

“Yeah, we’re all okay, thanks for your hospitality,” Taeyong finally answers, his voice weak. “You have a scar.”

Ten freezes for a second, surprised at such an abrupt change of topic. He chuckles under his breath, hugging his frame. 

“Yeah, that’s what happens when the skin gets damaged beyond healing,” he says slowly, wondering as to what the fuck is even happening. 

“But you can easily make it grow over,” Taeyong says with a frown. “You’re literally the creature with the most advanced regeneration ability, and yet you choose to recreate that scar every time. Why?”

Ten opens his mouth but stops himself before any sound can come out. He licks his lips and chuckles, looking away. 

“None of your business,” he says simply with a cheeky smile. He’s been told that certain smile drives most people insane because it’s clearly mocking them, and well, he’s not above using it when he wants to be petty. He likes riling people up. 

Taeyong purses his lips and nods, lowering his eyes to the floor. There’s a slight frown on him, as if he’s regretting letting his curiosity show. Ten waits patiently for him to get back to business. 

“Anyway,” Taeyong drawls after a moment. “I just wanted to let you know we’re all settled, but you and I need to discuss some things.”

Oh, they do. But Ten is yet to talk to Jennie to establish their cover, and Mark hasn’t even started on his research to get Ten the info he needs before he knows how to proceed. That, and they all need to rest, especially the nighties, seeing as the sun is high up in the sky and they’re too weak when it’s out for him to even try and get their brains to work. 

But Taeyong doesn’t need to know all that. 

“I’m beat, man,” he says regretfully, pouting. “And I bet your people are too. So let’s have a good rest and resume in the evening, eh?”

Taeyong frowns, searching for words, and Ten mentally sighs, begging the dude to just get off his case and go to sleep. He understands where Taeyong is coming from, surely, and he’d be as enthusiastic if it was his own team at danger, but well, it’s not. His agenda is different, and he’s not letting an overly eager fairy that he still doesn’t completely trust interfere with that. 

“The sun sets at around seven-thirty today,” he continues, taking advantage of the pause. “I’ll see you then.”

Taeyong visibly grits his teeth, and Ten wonders how many people in his life ever told him to wait for them. How often does he end up in situations where he doesn’t have complete control? It must be driving him crazy — to rely on someone else for a change. Ten is thoroughly enjoying it, to be honest. The dude might be a traitor, and Ten isn’t letting him deal his own cards. This is Ten’s poker table. 

“You’re annoying,” Taeyong says suddenly, but it doesn’t sound like an insult. More like an observation. He even looks like he’s making a mental note of that, adding it to the list of traits he’s observed in Ten. 

“Why, thank you,” Ten responds, bowing his head mockingly. “I’m also sleepy.”

Taeyong snorts — which shouldn’t be surprising but somehow is — and waves Ten off, turning around to walk out of the room. Ten waits until he’s almost out before calling out to him again. 

“Don’t forget to lock the doors,” he reminds Taeyong, tilting his head. “Don’t want anyone from TOUCH walking in to see a target sleeping on the couch, do we?”

Taeyong squints his eyes at him but doesn’t respond, simply nodding and closing the door behind him. Ten releases a breath as he turns around and draws the curtains on the off chance some of the nighties decide to pay him a visit without knocking. Taeyong’s frowning face lingers before his mind’s eye as he watches the steady rise of sun over the Seoul landscape. He hopes this isn’t gonna blow up in his face. 

Mark joins him twenty minutes later, the bags under his eyes forming their own designer line as he plops on the floor next to Ten’s chair, his head buried in the tablet. 

“I’ll work here if you don’t mind,” he mumbles sleepily. “The other rooms are too noisy.”

“I bet they are,” Ten hums without looking up from his own screen. “They're housing five more people than usual.”

He’s been trying to get ahold of Jennie for the past ten minutes, and so far he’s deduced she’s at lunch. It’s around three in the afternoon in San Francisco, and their department head has a rule of never taking her work phone with her to dinner. Ten has her personal number, but it’s reserved for emergencies, and he knows better than to interrupt her self-care time when it’s not an actual life-or-death situation. It is for Taeyong, of course, but well, he’s supposed to be the enemy right now, so. 

“Johnny doubled the security,” Mark reports with a yawn. “Nobody’s getting in or out.”

Ten nods and rubs his eyes, looking down at Mark, his form reminiscent of a pile of laundry someone was too lazy to fold. His oversized hoodie looks so big on him Ten wonders if he’s even wearing something underneath. It wraps him completely, his fingers peeking out from the sleeves and his legs only barely visible.

“Mark,” Ten says thoughtfully. “You’re adorable.”

“You’re not my type,” Mark shoots back without a pause, and Ten snorts, shaking his head. “Also, I’m almost in the Red Data List system. Just got to tweak the code a little to avoid them catching me.”

“You’d expect them to have kickass firewalls.”

“They do.” Mark looks up at him and smirks. “But I’m even more kickass.”

It would sound like a good enough statement if it wasn’t for the way his eyelids keep drooping. He’s trying to open his eyes wider but it only makes him look like a spooked cat. Ten purses his lips.

“You can finish it in the evening. Go to sleep, please,” he asks, turning back to the screen. “You look like death.”

“Thanks, it’s my dad’s genes.”

Ten rolls his eyes and snatches the tablet from him, locking it and putting it into his desk. 

Mark looks like he would murder him if he had enough energy, but he doesn’t, so he just huffs and stands up, mumbling under his breath as he walks out. Ten chooses to pretend he didn’t hear the string of curses. For such a small guy, Mark is disturbingly well-versed in profanities.

When the door closes behind Mark, Ten leans back in his chair and sighs deeply. He wouldn’t describe his state as being physically tired, but there’s a weight pulling on his mind. A myriad of questions and possibilities banging their way into his brain. Anxious. Yes, that’s what he is. He realizes he’s shaking his leg and puts a hand on his knee, forcing it to stop. 

He’ll have to refill Hendery’s prescription when he’s back in San Francisco. Should he pick up some Adderall? Fuck knows when it will be, though.

Jennie.

He dials her again as the clock strikes eight, and finally, she picks up with an annoyed huff.

“Is he dead?”

“Good morning to you too,” Ten drawls. There’s a petty desire to annoy her, but he kills it immediately. Picking his battles and all that. “And no. But I know where he is.”

_He’s sleeping on my couch, Jennie, don’t worry, a quick iron alloy into his morning coffee and I’ll head back home._

He hears Jennie sigh, the echo of her heels in the empty hall making him miss home for some reason.

“Then why are you calling me?” She asks. “Your orders are clear.”

Now, Jennie has a reputation of having a short temper, but she also knows how to always keep it in check when it matters. She wouldn’t have made the department head otherwise. It makes Ten wonder now as to what has her in such a sour mood that he can literally hear it through the phone. He’s glad he’s on the other side of the world rather than her table.

“I need some info,” he starts carefully. “There’s been a development in the case.”

“Which is?”

“Irrelevant, really, but it can complicate things.”

He closes his eyes and prays silently for her to trust him like she did all these years and not question it. Jennie knows him. He has an impeccable record and success rate, and he never asks for something unless there is an absolute need for it. If she asks him to elaborate on the ‘development’, he will have to lie, and he hates it. He also hates the fact that Jennie always knows when someone isn’t truthful with her. If he didn’t know they were of one kin, he’d suspect her in being a fairy.

“Alright,” she says eventually to his relief. “What do you need to know?”

He ponders on phrasing for a second, drumming his fingers on the table.

“Were there any changes in the brass recently?” He finally asks, deciding to be straightforward at least with that. “In the main command of TOUCH?”

A thought flashes in his mind as he actually hears Jennie stop in her tracks. A memory.

He was thirteen at the time, almost fourteen, and it was a bright August day. The sun burned his neck as he listened to his foster mother telling him about the new home he was moving to. It was right before Chicago and Adam and the chain of events that changed his life forever, and he looked into her eyes and wondered where he managed to fuck up so bad that she’s sending him away. She never told him, but he saw it in her look – the blame she placed upon him for something terrible he did without being aware of it. It was in the curve of her pursed lips and sharp exhale when he asked what was wrong.

Jennie makes the same exhale now. He doesn’t know what exactly is wrong, but he feels he messed up with this question. It happens in a second, maybe, because Jennie doesn’t even pause before responding.

“Yes, actually,” she drawls, and he tries fruitlessly to determine the emotion in her voice. “How did you know?”

“Call it a hunch,” he says, looking at the closed door. So, point one of Taeyong’s story checks out. “Do you know who’s in charge now?”

“It’s… Complicated.” She sighs and resumes walking. He counts her steps. “In layman’s terms, TOUCH is technically a government agency, but it’s only semantics put in place to get the country leaders off our backs. We have our own constitution and bylaws, councils and all that shit. We’re independent. Up until recently, we had a board of directors assigned by the stakeholders.”

“That doesn’t sound like layman’s terms to me,” Ten chuckles nervously.

Jennie enters her office and locks the door behind her. Ten listens to the lock clicking and frowns.

“Basically, the stakeholders are all those people who once invested in TOUCH back in the sixties. Most of them are immortal and respected, and were apparently really trusted by the founder, hence that one part in the company constitution saying that they have indefinite authority. Meaning that they can change and rotate the board of directors whenever and however they want.”

Ten chews on his lip, thinking it over.

“You said, ‘up until recently’,” he remembers.

“Yeah, well… Something happened a few weeks ago. I honestly have no idea what exactly, but suddenly, I get a memo about a complete new set of directors. All assigned within a week.”

Ten leans back in his chair and looks at the ceiling, feeling dread spread through his limbs.

“Ten, you know I have a hell of a gut,” Jennie says quietly. “But when I tell you I almost shit myself when I saw those names… Some of them aren’t good people. Like, at all. And something tells me not all of them were approved by the stakeholders.”

“Then how did they get on that list?”

“I have no idea, but shit is changing, Ten. I don’t know what’s happening, and honestly? There is a solid possibility I won’t be in my chair when you come back.”

“You’re exaggerating,” he assures her despite the growing uneasiness in his stomach. “Worse comes to worst, I hunt down the next department head and lock him up, and you shift into him to rule in his place.”

“Shapeshifter solidarity, I appreciate that,” Jennie hums, and he’s relieved to hear some of the tension leave her voice. “Anyway, whatever is happening in the brass doesn’t concern your assignment. Proceed as planned, Agent Thot.”

“Oh, _fuck you_ ,” he groans. “You promised to let that nickname die.”

“Kun did, I didn’t.” She chuckles but sobers up quickly. “Now, leave me alone and get to work. I want the report on that fairy’s dead body on my desk by yesterday morning.”

“As you wish, boss,” Ten says tightly, forcing himself to relax.

Jennie hangs up first, as she always does, and Ten closes his eyes with a sigh, allowing the guilt to knock on the door of his consciousness. Jennie is not only his boss, she’s his friend. She was the one mentoring him in the Academy, and if it wasn’t for her input back in the day, he wouldn’t hold the position he does. He owes the status of the youngest squad leader in the department to her, and now he’s lying to her on top of basically betraying the company.

She will understand. If this all turns out the way Taeyong is telling, she will. 

He doesn’t even get to reach the first checkpoint of his guilt trip when his phone rings again, and he blinks a few times, wondering if he’s hallucinating.

“Yuta?”

“I’m gonna beat your ass.”

“Nice to hear from you too,” he drawls. “How’s life?”

“Cut the bullshit, Ten,” Yuta growls, and Ten straightens up, realizing Yuta isn’t just messing around. “I know you’re with him.”

It’s like someone doused him with a bucket of cold water. He swallows thickly, feeling the adrenaline pumping in his veins.

“What’s with the pronoun game?” He tries, glad to find his voice steady. “Who are you talking about?”

“I said _cut the bullshit_ ,” Yuta positively screeches, and Ten hears the power of an ancient fox there. It’s freaking terrifying. “You have to…”

He cuts off abruptly when there’s another voice in the background that Ten vaguely recognizes as Renjun, Yuta’s own tech prodigy. Yuta listens to him for a few seconds before cursing in what Ten only guesses is Japanese and hangs up.

He stares at the phone in his hand, motionless. The hell was that? How did Yuta know? And what exactly does he know? Is he gonna rat Ten out to Jennie? Can he…

The phone chirps again with a text, showing a notification from an encrypted sender. The riddle is simple enough, and he recognizes Renjun’s style as he solves it before he sees the contents and feels like someone knocked the air out of his lungs.

**from: classified**

_keep him safe no matter what. Y._

“Excuse me?” Ten asks weakly into nothing, wondering for probably the twentieth time in the past eight hours as to what exactly he got his team into.

3

Hendery can’t sleep. He keeps tossing and turning trying to find a position that will be comfortable enough to finally pass out, but it’s all in vain. His body is exhausted but his mind is reeling with all the thoughts and theories, and it’s all buzzing inside.

Yang silently suffers for twenty minutes until finally having enough and poking him in the ribs.

“If you’re so uncomfortable with sharing a bed with me, you’re welcome to piss off to the floor,” he whispers, glancing at Jaehyun and Taeil on the next bed. 

They’re sound asleep wrapped around each other, and Hendery honestly envies them. Right now, however, his mind finds another issue to cling to, and he turns to Yangyang with a frown.

“It’s not about you.” He moves closer and throws his leg over Yang, wrapping his arms around his torso to press his face into his chest. “See, I’m comfortable.”

“Idiot,” Yang breathes out tiredly, but contrary to his words hugs Hendery back. “Go to sleep.”

“Can’t,” he whines. “I keep thinking about that kid.”

There’s a beat of silence as Yangyang draws in a slow breath. Hendery looks up at him, pursing his lips.

“What did he show you?”

“His nightmare, I’m guessing,” Yangyang says slowly. “It felt like something familiar but still scary. I think he’s having it often.”

Hendery pouts in thought, his eyes darting toward the door. He knows Yangyang guesses his thoughts by the way his grip tightens on Hendery’s waist.

“No.”

“But he’s so sad…”

“Hendery, we’ve talked about this. You can’t make friends with everyone you meet just because they’re _sad_ ,” Yangyang says heatedly with a frown. “And that one especially is dangerous.”

“Why are you so sure?” Hendery snaps at him, and Yang leans back a little in surprise.

Hendery frowns and moves, sitting up and turning away, his feet touching the cold floor. Jaehyun and Taeil didn’t seem to get disturbed. He licks his lips and stands up, walking to the door.

He knows Yangyang will follow him, anyway, so he doesn’t say anything as he slowly opens the door and peaks inside the second room. The curtains are closed, so he dares to walk inside, careful as to not step on Mark’s clothes on the floor. Mark himself is nowhere to be seen, but Sicheng is here on the couch, along with Taeyong and Xiaojun on the bed near the farthest wall. The door to Ten’s room is firmly shut, but he still throws a nervous glance at it. Ten seems to always feel when Hendery is about to pull some headassary. It’s creepy.

They’re all asleep at first glance, but as he gets closer to the bed with Taeyong and Xiaojun, he sees Xiaojun’s eyes open wide, staring at him. Hendery wiggles his fingers and smiles nervously. He feels Yang come up behind him, and the change in Xiaojun’s look is as abrupt as it is surprising – it goes from wary to curious, almost inviting. The boy looks at Taeyong, sound asleep next to him, and sits up carefully as to not rouse the fairy. Hendery smiles at him and extends his palm to help him get out of bed, but Xiaojun manages just fine himself, climbing over Taeyong and standing up next to them. 

“Wanna go for a walk?” Hendery mouths, but Xiaojun just frowns, looking at Yangyang. 

“Not on the street,” Yang supplies quietly. “Come on.”

Hendery almost giggles from happiness. Yangyang seemed to figure out his intentions quite quickly, and that’s only one of the reasons he loves the guy so much. He’s an amazing friend _and_ partner in crime, even if he spends more time judging Hendery than actively indulging him. He still does it by Hendery’s side, so. A win-win scenario. 

They go back to their room and inside the closet space, where Hendery discovered a concealed ladder when they arrived here yesterday. It’s a safe-house of TOUCH, so it’s no wonder there are secret exits. He pulls it down from the ceiling and climbs first, stepping into the attic and waiting for the others to join him. 

Only when they’re already inside does it occur to him that Xiaojun doesn’t talk. He frowns to himself a little before pulling out his phone and opening the Notes app before giving it to him.

“Here, you can type with that if you don’t wanna talk,” he suggests nervously, jerking his shoulder.

Xiaojun reaches out hesitantly before taking the phone and looking at it in wonder. Hendery exchanges a glance with Yang.

Finally, Xiaojun types something, turning the screen to them to let them read it. 

“ _This doesn’t look like going for a walk_ ,” Yangayng reads aloud. 

“Saying ‘go for a walk’ was quicker than ‘hang out in a secret attic,’” Hendery chuckles. “It’s awesome because the light gets inside the space but doesn’t hurt us.”

He gestures at the windows in the high ceiling and watches Xiaojun as he studies the place. It’s nothing too fancy, really, just a big room with lots of dust and old boxes. Hendery plumps down on the floor and crosses his legs, grinning up at Yang. 

“You’re gonna get yourself dirty,” Yangyang murmurs, wiping a little patch on the floor for himself.

Xiaojun looks wary, but he still sits down across from them, crossing his legs and putting his palms on his knees. Hendery reminds himself not to be too eager, but there’s something in the boy that fires up his curiosity. 

“ _Are you gonna give me a speech_?” Xiaojun types, blinking rapidly. 

“Nah,” Yang chuckles. “Hendery just suffers from an overwhelming desire to be friends with everyone he meets.”

“ _We’re supposed to be enemies._ ”

“Not if your story checks out,” Hendery says, jerking his shoulder. “And I’d rather make you feel welcome right away than wait for it all to confirm.”

Xioajun tilts his head and squints his eyes.

“ _You seem awfully sure it will. It’s dangerous to trust._ ”

“I don’t,” Hendery says with a smirk. “And I’m no stranger to danger. I was raised in a gang.”

It gets an expected reaction – Xiaojun’s eyes widen as his hand flies up to his mouth to cover a gasp, and Yangyang scoffs loudly, rolling his eyes. 

“You were not,” he drawls, shaking his head. “Stop bullshitting.”

“But I’m not!” Hendery whines and turns to Xiaojun with a serious face. “There was one in Macau. They took me in when I was a kid and raised me to be an awesome criminal.”

“Yeah, and that’s why you’re working at TOUCH of all places,” Yangyang says with his lips pursed. “Why not FBI?”

“Cause Quantico doesn’t have a vampire program,” he says innocently. “They don’t support a coed system, and there’s too many humans for me to be comfortable. So I went here.”

“Of course you did,” Yangyang deadpans. “And in two years of knowing me, you’ve never mentioned this before. Convenient.”

“Well, it’s not like it’s a good conversation starter!” Hendery contradicts, agitated. “ _Hey, I’m Hendery, a technical heir to the Macau Night Clan crime empire._ ”

“Oh, so now you’re an _heir_ ,” Yangyang says with a long sigh. “Sure.”

“ _Technical_ ,” Hendery corrects him. 

“Of course.”

He wants to say something else, but he’s interrupted by a soft giggle. He looks at Xiaojun and smiles, finding the boy laughing quietly, covering his face with his palms. He looks more relaxed, watching them bicker with an amused expression. 

Hendery doesn’t miss the look on Yangyang’s face, too, and it makes him feel… Strange. Yangyang looks thoughtful, but there’s something about his eyes – they’re watching Xiaojun so intently Hendery suddenly wants to distract him to break it. 

“Were you really raised by a gang?” Xiaojun asks breathlessly, tilting his head in amusement.

Hendery freezes, realizing he said that aloud. It’s quiet and barely audible, his soft voice carrying a hint of raspiness. He darts his eyes to Yang, who’s _still_ looking at Xiaojun in wonder, and decides not to put an emphasis on it. If Xiaojun is relaxed enough to talk to them, he doesn’t want to spook him. 

“Yep,” Hendery announces, nodding enthusiastically. “They were really surprised when I said I want to be an agent, but well. Nobody could say no to me. They all love me.”

“People tend to make that mistake,” Yang notes, _finally_ looking away from Xiaojun and at Hendery. “Like Hendery.”

Hendery gasps in offense and pushes his shoulder, sending his laughing form flying to the floor. Xiaojun laughs, watching them, once again covering his face. Hendery frowns, wanting to note that he shouldn’t be ashamed of his smile when something catches his attention. 

“Nice tattoo,” he says, gesturing at a flower crown circling his wrist. 

Xiaojun sobers up immediately, pulling his sleeve further down his arm, covering the tattoo again. He seems sad all of a sudden, and… scared. 

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs. 

The atmosphere has changed so abruptly Hendery blinks a few times, trying to reassess the situation and somehow fix it. Yangyang darts a look at him and swallows. 

“What about you?” He says softly. “Where were you raised?”

It’s obviously a wrong thing to ask, because Xiaojun closes up even more, his body visibly deflating and curling in on itself. He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out, so he picks up the phone again and begins typing.

“ _Taeyong will worry if he wakes up and I’m not there._ ”

He stands up and dusts off his pants. 

“Thanks for the company, guys,” he tries to say, but it comes out strangely muffled. “It was… You are…”

He shakes his head, his hair falling into his eyes and covering their expression, and goes to the exit without finishing his sentence. They watch him disappear inside in grim silence. 

“I fucked up.” Hendery sighs, the crawling feeling of anxiety setting camp under his ribs. 

“We both did,” Yangyang assures him, squeezing his hand. Hendery turns his palm over and intertwines their fingers. 

“You like him,” he states. 

Yangyang doesn’t answer right away, and Hendery is grateful to him for not denying it. They both know it’d be lying. 

“I’m intrigued by him,” Yang confesses eventually. “Aren’t you?”

“I guess.”

They sit in silence for a while before Yang looks up jerkingly and squints his eyes at him. 

“A gang, huh?”

“I wasn’t lying,” Hendery says with a smirk. “It just never came up, really.”

Yang snorts and pushes him a bit before standing up and tugging him along. 

“Come on, gangster, we need to sleep.”

Hendery follows him obediently, swallowing a little, nervous and suddenly guilty – what if it hurt Yang to find it out only now? It’s not like he was actively keeping it a secret, and it’s not like the clan is that dangerous and evil, no, they’re just benefactors of sorts, and Yang isn’t someone…

“Don’t stress over it,” Yangyang says, turning to face him when they reach the ladder. “We’re okay. As long as you don’t have any other vital and groundbreaking info about you hidden.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, lowering himself into the room, and Hendery watches him descend, feeling like shit. Yang is his best friend, probably the closest one in the world, and he should probably… Ah, shit. 

Ten would know the answer. Yeah, Ten would. He always does. 

3

**July 19, 2013, 01:15**

_Macau International Airport, China_

“Alright, you’re all set, I think.” Kara steps away a little, frowning as she fixes his collar for the tenth time. 

Hendery sighs and carefully pries her hands away from him, smiling softly as he kisses her fingers. 

“I’ll be fine, _mom_.”

Kara hits him on the shoulder and rolls her eyes fondly. Rick comes up behind her, unloading Hendery’s luggage and huffing.

“You okay, kid?”

“I am.” He nods. “She’s not.”

“Well, it’s her duty to be a mama hen, don’t take it too seriously,” Rick jokes, smirking when Kara bares her teeth at him. 

“I’m just not fond of the idea of sending him to study in the midst of… Police, basically.”

Hendery purses his lips and draws her in for a hug, immensely enjoying the fact he’s a head taller than her, which lets him wrap his arms around her firmly and tuck her in. She used to do it to him in the early days, but now he’s the one comforting. It’s nice. 

“Just because they classify as law enforcement doesn’t mean they’re police,” he murmurs. “They help people all around the world establish justice. Kids like me included. Not everyone is lucky enough to meet a gang leader that saves their lives.”

Kara tightens her grip on his waist and takes a shaky breath. He lets her stay in his embrace until she can safely hide her tears. Rick smiles tightly and rubs her back. 

“Come on, K, he needs to go to check-in,” he reminds softly. 

“You know I love you more than anything, right?” She says suddenly, jerking her chin up to meet his eyes. “And you can always come back home, whenever you feel like it. Nobody will ever judge. You’re always welcome here and in every branch of the family.”

“I know,” he says softly, kissing her forehead. “And I love you too. I’ll be fine.”

She forcibly steps back, kneading her palms and looking over him again, Rick’s hand on her shoulder. It’s funny how there are hundreds of people all around them, hurrying to and from the airport, and they create a mess of sounds and movement yet she’s the only thing he focuses on – the only person to ever put their faith in him and see it to the end. Rick is his brother, too, but Kara is the one who opened the door to him all those years ago. 

“Took your pills?” Rick asks quietly, and Hendery purses his lips, gripping the strap of his backpack. 

“I don’t need them anymore,” he reminds with a frown. “I haven’t had an episode in months, and I got my treatment.”

“Oh, but small one, they never gave us a guarantee…” Kara starts, but he cuts her off with a stern look. He swallows. 

“I can’t have them on me, K,” he whispers. “Can you imagine what they’ll do to me at TOUCH if they find them? Kick me out before I attend my first class, for starters.”

“They won’t,” Rick contradicts with a frown. “It’s not like you’re a freaking sociopath, kid.”

“Yeah, well, people will brand me,” he says, putting a note of finality into his voice. “If it comes back – well, fine, I’ll fight it. But I won’t come barging in and announcing I’m mentally ill. I want them to see my potential first.”

Kara’s eyes flash with familiar anger, but she contains it, flexing her fists and taking a deep breath. 

“You’re too stubborn for your own good,” she says tiredly. “But okay. If anything happens, you text me, yeah? I’ll get you the pills or an appointment.”

She hugs him again, and he smells her hair to set his mind at ease before he enters a completely new chapter of his life. 

“Sure, mom,” he whispers, kissing the crown of her head. “Tell everyone I love them. I’ll try to be in touch.”

“You’ll get crucified if you don’t,” Rick reminds him, patting his shoulder. “Good luck, kid.”

Hendery nods to him and squeezes Kara for the last time before picking up his luggage and walking toward the check-in without turning around. There’s no point — he’ll only make Kara even more upset, and she’s already rattled by her favorite little project leaving the nest. He wishes it would be easier, and he wishes he was content with just staying home, but he needs to see the world, he needs to explore it, he needs to achieve heights nobody ever expected of him. There is so much more waiting for him than just heading up a syndicate, he knows for sure. And he’ll find it, he definitely will. 

The overhead speaker announces the registration starting for the flight to Shanghai. That’s where the Academy he enrolled to is. 

He comes up to the window and hands over his papers with a smile. 

Here he goes.

3

**May 19, 2019, 20:05**

_Seoul, South Korea_

_Safehouse_

Mark doesn’t look that much better than this morning when Ten sent him to sleep. Ten himself feels peachy. He expected some nasty nightmare when going to sleep but it never came, letting him have his rest without interrupting to hyperventilate. It’s new but not unwelcome.

“I sent Johnny to sleep,” Mark reports, closing the door behind him and yawning. “Hendery got the guard shift.”

“Nice,” Ten comments, looking over his face in the mirror.

He could never get rid of the irrational fear of losing his features overnight. It sometimes feels like he will wake up with his nose missing, or his chin deciding to slide to his ear, or just his skin aging twenty years at once. What if he loses control in his sleep? 

“Listen, I’m not judging,” Mark starts, which is Ten’s cue that Mark is about to do precisely that. “But you barely interacted with our prisoners. Taeyong doesn’t strike me as a patient man.”

Ten meets his own eyes in the mirror and thinks about the fairy. There is a certain urgency to his movements, for sure, but still, something at the edges of his eyes…

“Something tells me he is actually the most patient out of us all,” he hums to himself. “And I know what I’m doing, Markie. Don’t worry.”

“You’re hoping to wear him out?” Mark guesses.

“Maybe.”

Ten turns around and walks over to the table. There’s no new notifications from San Francisco, and while he’s relieved Jennie isn’t demanding immediate results, he would love to hear from Yuta. After the cryptic message the fucker hadn’t surfaced online, which makes Ten perplexed, and he hates being perplexed.

“How’s your search?”

“Almost done,” Mark reports, squeezing his eyes shut and then opening them wide to get rid of the sleepiness. “Give me another five minutes or so.”

“You hungry?” Ten asks, carefully looking over his face. 

Mark’s usual giveaways are simple. He gets cranky for starters. Then there’s bags under his eyes and pale skin – well, paler than usual. When he’s fed, he looks like a porcelain doll with a tinge of rouge on its cheekbones, but when he’s hungry, he reminds Ten of a winter sidewalk, cleaned of snow yet still white with the outlines of a grey road underneath. He looks like shit, that’s the point. 

Right now, however, he seems relatively okay. His skin looks almost healthy for a vampire, and there are only hints of blue under his eyes. Ten can’t say anything about his mood, because ever since he made the decision to help their targets, Mark has been especially pissy, which understandably isn’t caused by hunger. 

“I’m fine for a few days,” Mark answers absentmindedly. “You should be worried about other things.”

“Team comes first,” Ten hums with a small shrug. 

Silence settles over them then. Ten uses the time Mark needs to finish his little hacking trick to study the files on Anteros again. 

It’s not like there’s a lot to study. Taeyong’s file comprises a single page, only half-filled. There’s his picture, name, and the info about his association with TOUCH. He clicks his tongue at the useless data and logs into the database to try and find anything else. The hope is slim on that one, but he still has to try. 

An annoying beep from the speaker confirms his suspicions as he looks at the big red ‘classified’ button spreading over the screen. He kinda wants to punch it. His leg starts shaking again and he doesn’t stop it this time, forcing his mind to focus instead. There’s been too many triggers lately, and he feels restless. 

The search of other team members of Anteros, or even the name of the group itself, doesn’t bring any results too. He’s on the verge of throwing the tablet across the room when a sudden thought crosses his mind. 

Kun has enough clearance to bypass the lock. Hell knows how he achieved that – he certainly never told Ten, even when bugged – but it’s still a fact. That was Ten’s purpose for coming to him in the first place before this hellish assignment even started, but by the end of their talk he assumed he had enough info to go on. How will Kun react if Ten calls him up with such a suspicious request? Kun hates lying, and well, it’s the middle of the night in San Francisco. He won’t be happy. 

“Got it,” Mark suddenly says, ripping Ten out of his thoughts. 

That gets his attention. He drops on the floor next to Mark, peeking into his tablet, the Red Data List database open to them in all its glory. He can see that Mark is inside the Merfolk system and skims over the pictures with something reminiscent of hunger. 

“There’s nothing,” Mark reveals, quickening the process. 

Ten frowns and looks up at him. 

“Xiaojun isn’t here.”

He knows there’s no point in questioning the truth of it. Mark is the best at what he does, and if he says the boy isn’t in the system, he’s right. 

“That can only mean two things,” Ten muses, already getting lost in the schemes inside his own mind, his mental whiteboard filling up with post-it notes. “The name might be fake.”

“Or the race,” Mark supplies. “We have no way of verifying he even belongs to Merfolk without locking him in a tank of water.”

“Yeah, that.” 

Ten sighs and stands up, walking over to the window and letting his eyes get lost in the evening lights of Seoul, his mind wandering and wondering. So Taeyong lied. Not a surprise, sure, but after his story about the CEO checked out, some part of Ten assumed the other things would also be true. 

Morgens went through hell. When humanity woke up from their delirious feverish nightmare of a war, they were so remorseful and guilt-ridden that they fast tracked every possible process of integrating and protecting the creatures. It’s been a couple of centuries overdue, honestly, but well. Humans. The existence of creatures had been revealed back in the 19th century, throwing the whole world into a whirlpool of wars and blood and violence until they managed to achieve peace, but it was the Human War almost a hundred years later that truly opened their eyes to a simple truth – there’s no getting off the planet. Everyone has to agree to live in peace and actually mean it, and after so many war crimes were revealed, they got really fucking ashamed. 

Ten knows the stories from school. Humans enslaved and commanded creatures in their own petty fight, and yeah, everyone suffered, but it was the morgens who really got the short end of the stick. Almost complete annihilation of the race. All because of some jealous human bitch. Her actions are what led the humans to implementing a strict system of monitoring every morgen and ensuring they have perfect living conditions. It never gave any fault. 

“What if he’s just not in the system?” Ten says, surprising even himself, let alone Mark, who looks up at him with wide eyes. 

“That’s impossible.”

“Is it?” 

Ten comes back to him and sits down, biting his lower lip in thought. 

“You’re not in the system,” he reminds Mark with his eyebrows raised pointedly. “Your records started only after you entered TOUCH.”

“That’s different, and you know it.” Mark rubs his neck, uncomfortable. “My family is… Well, you _know_.”

“Loaded, yeah.”

“It’s not just about that,” Mark huffs in annoyance. “There’s another reason we’re not accounted for, and I won’t talk about it, you know I can’t. But I know for a fact my factor doesn’t apply to Xiaojun, or any morgen.”

Ten grits his teeth, fighting a flare of irrational anger. The question of Mark’s heritage is the one that’s been bugging him ever since he saw the kid in the trainee room and asked him if he wants to join a permanent unit. It’s more ‘classified’ bullshit that only HR knows, and while Mark is an amazing friend and colleague, he never spills the beans. It’s annoying. Ten hates being in the dark. 

“Then either his name or race is fake,” he concludes, closing his eyes tiredly.

He has to talk to the fairy now. Maybe not reveal what they found out but try to fish for more information. He’s as cryptic as a wooden casket from that old Russian fable, but oh well. If Ten recalls correctly, the secret of that damn box was quite simple. 

“Call Taeyong in here, will you?” He asks tiredly, getting up to make the bed. 

The door closes softly behind Mark, and Ten fixes the covers mechanically, the finishing line of the fable stuck in his head, the sounds of Bogdana’s voice softening the consonants. 

_А ларчик просто открывался!_

_But you just had to move the lid!_

“I wonder if this casket will open that simply,” he murmurs to himself. 

3

Taeyong looks impatient but desperate to conceal it. Ten drills him with his eyes, his own pose relaxed. He’s sitting at the table, choosing to sit Taeyong on the bed. The man picks at the holes on his knees, swallowing here and there. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Ten finally starts, realizing that Taeyong is waiting for his cue. “But your story has way too many questionable moments.”

“Like what?” Taeyong says grimly without looking up. 

“How did you escape so easily?” Ten asks. 

“We spent months there. It’s my usual tactic to study the layouts and exits first whenever we get to a new place. So I had a few escape plans prepared.”

“Okay. How come nobody came for you?”

“You did.” Taeyong looks up and tilts his head. 

Ten rolls his eyes. 

“That’s different. I meant people from the gang you fucked over.”

“We eliminated their brass. Their benefactor took it upon himself to set out a call for my head. They had other things to take care of instead of seeking revenge.”

“Sounds doubtful.”

“You know a lot about gang politics?” Taeyong wonders. 

Ten chuckles and looks away from him. “I know my fair share.”

He sees the curiously flash in Taeyong’s eyes, but to the guy’s name, he doesn’t ask to elaborate. He knows well that it’s better not to get too deep into each other’s histories when it can all go sideways very quickly. 

“My turn to ask questions,” Taeyong says suddenly, surprising Ten. He chuckles. 

“Nah,” he says, licking his lips. “You’re not in charge here, fairy.”

“Are you using that as an insult?” Taeyong wonders quietly. Dangerously. 

“No. Just stating a fact,” Ten says. “It’s really, truly nothing personal, Taeyong. But I am in a position where your race is the best leverage I have. It's the innocent until proven guilty concept only in reverse. It’s safer for me to assume you’re the enemy from the beginning.”

“Did you check my story?” Taeyong asks with his lips curled in disgruntlement. He leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees. 

“Some of it.” Ten swallows and glances at his tablet. Nobody says he has to reveal everything he found out. “You said there’s a new CEO. But there’s actually more people than just one mystical dude you keep talking about.”

“They don’t matter,” Taeyong shoots out, his voice getting higher. “Jeremy Wong is the only one that we have to worry about. He’s in charge.”

Ten files the name away in his memory and takes a deep breath, stalling for time. He has to bring up Xiaojun, but he doesn’t want to uncover all the cards he has. 

“Do you trust the morgen?”

He knows he messed up even before he finishes the question. It doesn’t feel like the thing he wanted to ask, but alas, it’s already out, so he pretends everything is okay as he waits for an answer. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Taeyong asks instead. 

“Don’t do that,” Ten asks in exasperation. “Don’t answer a question with another question. Give me a straight answer.”

Taeyong grits his jaw, and Ten watches the lines of his face become sharper. He suddenly remembers the way Taeyong’s eyes glowed when he was using his magic. 

“I trust him.” He straightens up, watching Ten intently. “I have no reason not to.”

“And you’re sure his story is true?” 

“Yes.”

“Fairies sense lies, don’t they?”

“We sense deception. Occasionally, it includes the omission of truth.”

“Then you’re lying too.”

It’s silent. Ten smiles again, hoping to irritate Taeyong and cause him to lower his defenses. The man doesn’t react apart from freezing completely, his gaze glued to Ten’s eyes. It makes him think of Bogdana. In all his life, he’s only met a handful of people who resembled her in determination and utter stubbornness, and something about Taeyong suggests he’s going to join that list. Only if it were Bogdana, she’d be making dark jokes right about now. For now, Taeyong is still in the territory where he doesn’t feel comfortable with revealing his true character, and well, Ten understands that. But this comparison is giving him leverage he needs. 

If Taeyong is really made out of the same material Bogdana is, Ten knows a sure way to draw him out. 

“We did a little research,” he shares calmly. “Xiaojun isn’t in any system. Not the Red Data List, not in general medical records, not the TOUCH database. He doesn’t exist. You do, however, but only with basic info.”

Taeyong is still silent, his jaw moving silently. He isn’t looking at Ten now, instead drilling a hole in the carpet. 

“So I guess we have nothing to discuss until you agree to be honest with me,” Ten concludes, shrugging nonchalantly. “See you tomorrow.” He stands up and turns away, going to the window.

Taeyong breathes out loudly behind him. “What?”

“You heard me. I need more time to research you, because let’s face it, even if you tell me something, I have no reason to believe you.”

He can physically feel Taeyong boiling. He smiles to himself, looking over the city. It’s pretty. It’s a shame he can’t have more time to walk around and study it. 

“Ten, I—”

“Nah, I don’t wanna hear it,” he says. “Be patient, darling.”

And there it is – the sound of Taeyong standing up from the bed and crossing the distance between them in two long strides. Ten is ready for it, so when Taeyong grabs his shoulder and turns him around, slamming him into the wall, he doesn’t flinch. Just smiles, enjoying the angry expression on him. 

Taeyong hates being disregarded. What a surprise. 

“ _You_ have no fucking right to tell _me_ to be patient,” Taeyong seethes, and now, finally, Ten sees the real him – the raw energy and strength rolling off of him in waves, his defenses finally falling to reveal the true nature of the man who managed to get the entirety of TOUCH pissed with him. 

Some part of Ten wants to wonder what exactly that statement means and why Taeyong’s eyes look so hurt when he says it, but he doesn’t have the time – so he focuses on the anger Taeyong is experiencing and grabs his wrist, wrapping his fingers around the exposed skin. 

By the time Taeyong figures out what he’s doing and rips his hand away, Ten has already gotten a basic reading. Nothing too substantial, of course, but at least the confirmation of what he already knew. 

“Xiaojun isn’t just a boy you met on accident,” he whispers, looking at the glimpses of memories he managed to get from Taeyong, who’s now standing across from him. Scared. “You knew him before.”

“You violated me,” Taeyong hisses, rubbing his wrist and breathing heavily. 

“To the extent of my jurisdiction,” Ten reminds him, licking his lips. 

It’s a little trick they never tell about the shapeshifters in school. In order to turn into someone, Ten needs their DNA. Almost anything will work, really, even a simple skin particle or a single hair that the cells of his own body then replicates to create a disguise. TOUCH regulation states that he has a right to ‘borrow’ the face of any consenting civilian as long as he follows all the rules and makes sure the people who actually know the civilian never see him. They have a database of people overly eager to serve their country with their DNA samples on hand, so it’s usually really simple to get a disguise when he needs one. He just gets the sample from the archive and turns, putting on the mask of someone else. 

But first, he takes the memories.

Usually, he locks them up in his head to protect at least some of the privacy of his subjects, but he still always gets glimpses of them before he’s able to put out a block. Just like now – he only sees a few faint outlines, and he has to force his mind to lock onto them before performing the usual blocking reflex. The contact has been cut short so he doesn’t have the full extent, but it’s still enough for him to know at least some of the truth. And yes, it’s exactly in his jurisdiction. 

“You’re a fucking… Asshole,” Taeyong breathes out, but it doesn’t sound like an insult. Just like this morning, Taeyong sounds like he’s simply stating a fact. 

“Thanks,” Ten hums. “Now, back to the lie?”

Taeyong swallows and takes a step back, locking his palms behind his back and straightening up. 

“It doesn’t matter, really,” he says, sounding more collected than he’s ever been in the time Ten’s known him. “Yes, I knew him before. But the rest of the story is true.”

“How did you know him?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Taeyong repeats. 

Ten stares at him, weighing his options. “You do realize that your fate is in my hands?” He asks quietly. “One word from me, and you’re in jail, or worse.”

“You’re too curious to rat me out,” Taeyong states, and Ten feels the words he was about to say get stuck in his throat. 

Because Taeyong is right. 

“If it becomes too dangerous for my team, I’ll find a way to battle my curiosity, trust me,” he says slowly, measuring every word. He’s getting tired of this game. “Give me the names of the rest of those kids you’ve been talking about.”

Taeyong throws his hands up, gritting his teeth. 

“We need to get out of here first,” he spits out. “I don’t feel comfortable hiding in a freaking TOUCH safehouse.”

“I do.” Ten clicks his tongue and smirks. “So give me those names. And while we’re checking them out, you come up with an explanation about Xiaojun not being in the system.”

Taeyong blinks slowly, taking deep breaths. Ten suddenly realizes he’s counting to ten in his head. It makes him weirdly happy – the knowledge of getting under Taeyong’s skin. He smiles innocently at him. 

“Mark will take those names,” he says sweetly. “And I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Be patient.”

He expects the same reaction to the phrase, but Taeyong just grits his jaw and chuckles darkly. 

“Sure,” he breathes out. Fixes the sleeves of his shirt and smiles softly at Ten, putting that annoying mask back again. “As you wish, Ten.”

As he leaves the room again, Ten thinks about the way he said the name – with barely conceivable distaste, as if even the sound of it makes his stomach hurt. Rather strange, but maybe not so much. He sighs. 

It’s been almost a day, yet they’ve barely made any progress. Sooner or later, he’ll have to move them all, even if he doesn’t get the truth he wants out of Taeyong. It’s too dangerous to stay here. 

The clock is ticking. He wonders if he can succeed before it strikes midnight. 

3

**June 23, 2016, 15:43**

_TOUCH Academy Shanghai, China_

One day, Ten thinks, they will invent medication that will make the jet lag a distant memory. For now, he will have to settle with feeling like a whiplashed piece of mango stuck in the juicer. Considering he hates fruit, it’s a perfect analogy.

Kun once dared him to eat an apple. Ten was extremely drunk at the time and has little recollection of how that went down, but he was left with a bitching hangover and a memory of disgust.

He blinks, getting his mind back on track and tuning into the valedictorian on stage pompously announcing how she’s gonna change the world. Eh. Boring. He was in her place once, but even from the height of his own teenage arrogance, he knew that’s complete bullshit. 

Ten lets his gaze wander onto the people closest to the stage. He got an honorary place at the professors’ table, and damn, if only his own old teachers could see him now! A disgrace, some would say. A well-deserved position, others would note. Pretentious bullshit, Bogdana would scoff. 

The folks in the front row look so eager he would pity them if he didn’t know how they feel. He had that same eagerness only a few years ago, and perhaps, he still has it now, buried beneath piles of issues and bitterness the real world planted in him. 

A major part of that bitterness is justified by the reason he’s even attending a Shanghai Academy graduation ceremony, watching the Special Operatives School alumni getting their diplomas. Almost two years ago, he got his own command and gathered a perfect team. Johnny was an obvious choice, even and especially despite their friendship. Mark was a practical option, and very beneficial at that. And then there was Luke. Born and raised on the sunny coast of California, he was an embodiment of the TOUCH soldier — a big strong werewolf with a smile that gained the trust of agents and civilians alike in a heartbeat, and brains to rival those of Ten himself. If he’s being completely honest with himself, he might have had a tiny little crush on Luke. 

That is, until Luke got some girl knocked up and retired to assume a new mantle of a caring father and thriving mechanic. He is, Ten rode past his new shop a few days ago. He begrudgingly admitted to Johnny that evening that Luke is happy and successful, and that was the last they spoke of the dude until yesterday morning when Johnny reminded him they need a replacement. And Ten? He always lived by the motto, ‘If you can’t do it perfectly, don’t even bother trying.’ Which is why he looked up the graduation class with the highest ratings this year and caught a plane to Shanghai. TOUCH has an incredibly flexible and convenient system of recruitment, and that’s one of the reasons Ten really likes his job. 

He already knows which one he wants.

Wong Hendery is the third from the left in the second row, his face bearing a dreamy expression that tells Ten he isn’t listening to a word of what his classmate is saying. Ten doesn’t blame the guy. She’s not very original. If she were, he’d be recruiting her. Hendery is one tenth of a point below her, but his essays and exam transcripts made for excellent in-flight reading, helping Ten determine he needs the kid on his team. He also can jump extremely high, and that’s always a plus. 

He wonders if Hendery will be pleased to receive an offer to fly half the world. Average rate of graduates getting a job on an actual active team within the first year instead of getting stuck pushing papers around is abysmal. Ten guesses he’ll jump at the opportunity. 

“Do you have a gym?” is the first thing Wong Hendery asks him when Ten takes him aside after the ceremony is over. 

Ten stares at him. “Yes, we do,” he says slowly.

“Then I’m in.” Hendery bobs his head and gives Ten a blinding smile. “When do we leave?”

That easy? Ten just offered him a position in San Francisco, and the kid agreed without learning any details apart from them having a freaking gym?

Something in Ten instantly takes a liking to the guy. 

“My flight is tomorrow morning,” Ten informs him. “If you can get your affairs in order by that time, I can take you with me.”

“Will you handle the paperwork?”

“I don’t have a choice,” Ten snorts. “I’m your leader. Will be.”

“Then I can get my shit packed in time for the flight,” Hendery assures him, the smile appearing again. 

Ten opens his mouth and closes it again with a strained sound. Then he speaks up after all. “Are you sure you don’t want any details? Don’t have any questions?”

Hendery chuckles and looks around, making sure there’s nobody listening in. He looks nervous, avoiding Ten’s eyes. 

“Listen, man, I hate it here,” he confesses quietly. “I loved the Academy and I can’t wait to start working, but Shanghai is suffocating me. You’re basically inviting me to a basement full of people doing the things _I_ want to do. I’m guessing the job doesn’t involve too many crowds, and that sounds just perfect for me. And I need to keep in shape, so.”

“So,” Ten echoes thoughtfully. He watches Hendery closely, sensing that there’s something he’s not saying. He’s obviously a talker, but the trick with people who seem like blabbermouths is that they rarely disclose any important information. They’re just filling up the radio space. 

It’s smart. He gets the distaste for socializing. And Johnny’s gonna love to have someone to work out like crazy with. 

“I’m gonna ask you one more question,” he says quietly. “Answer it honestly, and you have your ticket to San Francisco.”

Hendery looks up at him eagerly, an encouraging smile gracing his face. 

“Is there anything I, as your future leader, should know that isn’t on your file?”

To Hendery’s credit, someone else would miss the instant barely noticeable change in his eyes. But Ten spent way too much time with his head buried in NLP books to be considered someone else. 

“Nothing that will in any way or form affect my work,” Hendery assures him, his expression not changing. 

Fair enough. Ten sees the metaphorical scales in his mind tip to the side and knows that he’ll welcome the kid into his team next week. 

“Get your shit, then. I’ll sort everything out with your papers and meet you at the airport tomorrow at seven on the dot.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t do that. It’s just Ten.”

“Okay, sir.”

“Yeah, Johnny’s definitely gonna love you.”

3

**May 19, 2019, 21:17**

_Seoul, South Korea_

_Safehouse_

Mark finds him in the bathroom. He went through the names Taeyong gave him, and they all checked out to be teens with a missing persons report on each of them. Xiaojun is the only one missing. Ten is still hesitating to leave the safehouse, so now Mark is here. Looking for him because he's supposed to sleep but instead is obviously doing something else than freaking resting.

“Am I interrupting?” 

Johnny looks up from where’s crouched over the weapons in the bathtub. They had to move them here to find everyone a place to sleep. It was a bitch waiting for everyone to take a shower and dragging them here, but Johnny did it all without complaining. Mark pretended to help, and neither of them commented on it. 

“No, I actually wanted to call you,” Johnny admits with a small frown. 

Mark goes to wonder as for the reason, but Johnny’s slightly wrong stance says it all. He goes inside with a sigh, closing the door and hesitating before locking it. No. Too weird. 

They stay silent as Johnny straightens up and turns around, tugging at his shirt. Mark suppresses a wince when he sees his back, but Johnny still catches it in the mirror. Mark meets his eyes in the reflection. 

“Why aren’t you wearing the belt?” He asks quietly, forcing himself to look away and study the bruises on Johnny’s left side. 

“I left it in San Francisco.”

“Idiot.”

Johnny sighs but doesn’t comment. Good for him. Mark didn’t spend a month designing a belt that prevented Johnny’s fucked up spine from hurting only for him to forget it and now require another massage. Mark carefully touches the outlines of the old scar, pressing a little. 

“Feel that?” 

“No.”

He lets his gaze stay on the huge scar for a little longer, once again studying its form, the skin softer and paler than the rest of his body even after all these years. Some burns eventually heal. Some get created by a fire so strong it leaves its mark forever. Some, like in Johnny’s case, are born out of something far more dangerous and irreversible than simple flames. 

“When will you stop asking?” Johnny wonders quietly. “You know it’ll never happen.”

He knows. They’ve been in this position countless of times before, and maybe, it’s because Mark is the only one allowed to see Johnny’s scarred back — by a pure confluence of events, really, nothing too significant — or maybe there's nothing poetic about it and Johnny turns to him as the only one on the team with basic medical training. 

Whatever it is, the situation is still familiar — Johnny posing as a suffering hero, and Mark staring at the damaged skin on his back. And he wants to find something that will fix the destroyed nerve endings. If not for Johnny, then to satisfy his own perfectionism. 

“One can dream,” Mark hums, moving his palms to his shoulder blades and tracing his spine to find what’s bothering him. “I’m working on something for it.”

He sees Johnny raise his eyebrows in the reflection. He looks tired. They all are. 

“Why?”

“Call it scientific curiosity.”

Johnny doesn’t get to answer because Mark finally locates the kink in his spine and gently nudges it, massaging his shoulder blades to get rid of the pain. Johnny sighs under his breath, closing his eyes as his muscles slowly relax upon the strain disappearing. 

“Better?” Mark asks when he’s done and there’s a patch of reddened skin on Johnny. 

“Much,” he breathes out, putting his t-shirt back on. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Johnny turns around and they stare at each other for a few seconds. It’s weird, but it’s never awkward with Johnny. Sometimes, the simple act of him breathing drives Mark mad, but it’s never uncomfortable when they end up alone. Ironic. 

“Have you talked to Ten today?”

Johnny lowers his eyes. “I don’t think I want to.”

“But you need to. He listens to you.”

“Ten only listens to himself. He takes _others_ into consideration.”

Mark scowls, feeling the familiar annoyance creep into his mind. “Then go and give him something to consider. You’re his best friend _and_ his second in command. We can’t stay here for long.”

“Ten must have his reasons to not relocate us yet,” Johnny explains patiently. 

Mark throws his hands up in irritation. “Then find them out!”

“Bitch, do I look like your fucking lapdog?” Johnny suddenly explodes, stepping away. 

Under the white fluorescent lights of the bathroom, he seems surreally vivid. Mark can’t help but zoom in on the bruises under his eyes. He barely bounced back from the full moon when they were landing a plane to Seoul, and thanks to the cycle change, it caught up to him here too. No wolves jumping out, thank you very much, but it’s still taking its toll on him. 

“I don't want to fight,” he says hoarsely, surprising himself as much as Johnny. “You’re still riding the wolf hormones.”

Johnny scoffs and turns away, going back to cleaning the weapons, his movements jerky. 

“Good old Mark,” he mumbles under his nose. “Will find anything to blame except for himself.”

Now this makes Mark see red. The fangs pull out on their own volition, his fists curling up, the claws digging into the palms. He studies Johnny’s turned back for a long moment, knowing he can strike before Johnny can even turn around. 

“Good old Johnny,” he growls. “Will play the saint until hell burns down.”

Johnny half-turns his head and meets Mark’s eyes, unimpressed. 

“Dramatic, as always,” he notes without reacting to Mark looking halfway to his battle form. 

Their little Greek play extravaganza is interrupted by someone knocking on the door. Mark takes a deep breath, calming down, and goes to open it. 

Jaehyun freezes mid-fixing his hair and looks over them two. 

“Are you fucking or fighting?” He asks in a conversational tone. “Cause either way I have to use the mirror.”

Mark huffs through his nose and steps away to let him in. “Be my guest. I was leaving anyway.”

“Finally, my prayers have been answered,” Johnny mutters under his breath, successfully cutting off any intentions to leave on Mark’s part. He slams the door, leaning against it and crossing his arms on his chest. 

“Or maybe I’ll stay and keep you company, Jaehyun, eh?”

Jaehyun measures him with an unimpressed gaze. 

“I literally couldn’t care less,” he comments, leaning against the sink to study his eyes in the mirror. 

The bathroom has enough space for them all to fit. Johnny sits on the edge of the bathtub, squinting his eyes at Jaehyun. 

“You okay?”

Mark wonders why he cares. Then he wonders why he cares if Johnny cares. Oh fuck this. 

“Goddamn suppressants making my eyes itch like they’re on fire,” Jaehyun complains, his voice muffled by the hand he’s using to pull his eyelid away. “I haven’t had sex in weeks, and going for too long without getting the hormones from someone makes me cranky. Hence the drugs.”

Johnny suddenly laughs, quickly covering his mouth but still allowing a smile to linger. Jaehyun watches him in the reflection, grinning slightly. 

“What?”

“We met literally yesterday, we’re technically holding you prisoner, but you still feel comfortable enough to discuss your sex life.” Johnny rubs his neck. “It’s weird. But in a good way.”

“Come on, it’s the twenty-first century and I’m an incubus,” Jaehyun says with a roll of his eyes. “It’s basically like discussing weather for me.”

“Like I said, it’s not a bad thing.” Johnny smiles wider now. “Just unusual, that’s all.”

“Yeah, you should hear Sicheng talk about the ways _he_ gets the juice.” Jaehyun goes back to studying his eyes and eventually turns on the faucet to wash them. “At least I try to be humane about it. I don’t take more than I need and get out before they can get attached. Sicheng… Doesn’t care anymore.”

He bends to wash his eyes, and Mark watches the way Johnny studies his profile. They seem to be comfortable around each other, barely even noticing Mark is also here. He feels a pang of something and assumes it’s jealousy of people who can socialize this easily. He could never be as unflappable as Jaehyun or as confident as Johnny. 

It’s okay, though. He makes up for it with his brains. He bets Jaehyun can’t hack a whole Red Data List system in under an hour. 

“You’re a colorful crowd,” he notes, trying to get back into the conversation. 

Jaehyun wipes his face with a paper towel and turns around, leaning against the sink. 

“You’re not so simple yourself.”

“Comes with the job,” Mark explains, not too bothered what opinion Jaehyun has about them. 

“You get it, don’t you?” Johnny smiles with a quirk of his lips. 

Jaehyun keeps his eyes on Johnny for a few moments, his expression unreadable, and sighs. 

“Yeah, I do.” He fixes his hair and bobs his head unconsciously, looking at his hands. “In this line of work, your team eventually becomes your family. We’re really tight because of the way we were brought together and the nature of the job. I know we didn’t make a great first expression, but it was a stressful night for everyone involved.”

Johnny nods in understanding. Mark feels baffled. Not by Jaehyun’s words, he gets those, but by the way Johnny resonates with the guy. It’s not even about their own strained relationship with Mark. It’s more about Johnny being so adamant on treating Anteros as enemies just yesterday and now standing here sympathizing with one of them. 

But it’s not like he didn’t know Johnny is a fucking hypocrite, right? Right. 

“It’s not safe for us to trust each other,” Johnny speaks up. “But I really hope we find a reason to.”

_Bitch._

Mark grits his teeth so hard he hears his jaw pop. 

_So you can’t bother to fix the mess you made with me for nine years, but it takes you a five-minute conversation to start sucking up to this dude?_

Fucking phenomenal. 

Ten calling for them from the living room doesn’t let that train of thought continue. He walks out silently, ignoring the murmur or ongoing conversation behind him. Fuck them both, honestly. 

Okay, maybe not Jaehyun. It’s not his fault Johnny Suh is the world’s biggest asshole. So fuck Johnny. 

It’s really not surprising that this thought doesn’t make him feel any better.

3

“Contrary to a popular opinion, I’m not an idiot,” Ten starts when they’re all gathered together in the living room. 

There’s still signs of people sleeping on the couches, what with all the blankets and pillows lying around. Mark gets an itching to clean up but stays put where he’s settled between Hendery and Yangyang on the couch. The kids look weirdly calm, but they’ve always been the most adaptive of the bunch. 

Johnny chose to sit with Jaehyun on the floor where the incubus himself settled between Taeil’s legs, Sicheng next to Taeil on the couch. Xiaojun is tucked under his arm, his eyes fixed on Ten. Taeyong is the only one apart from Ten standing up, standing two feet away from him and looking like someone painted a Renaissance masterpiece on Ten’s face. Mark’s never seen someone study something so intently. He wonders if Taeyong even realizes what he’s doing. 

“I know we need to relocate,” Ten continues. “Which is what we will do today after midnight. The question now is where to go.”

“Jinju,” Taeyong responds immediately. “Back to where it all started.”

“I get the urgency, but it’s not safe for us to be seen together right now,” Ten says slowly. Mark gets why he’s speaking like a yoga instructor — Taeyong looks like he’s going to kill someone if they don’t move soon. “We can’t take our cars because we’ll get flagged trying to get out of Seoul, and I don’t think we want to be caught sharing sundaes on the airplane or train. We’re trapped here.”

“I have a contact that can get us to Daegu,” Taeyong hastens to say. “We can figure it out from there.”

Taeil makes a strained sound and measures Taeyong with a warning look, but Taeyong waves him off. 

“Taeyong.” Taeil looks at him sternly. “We can’t trust _your contact_. We can’t trust anyone.”

“Jackson hates TOUCH,” Taeyong says with the same stern look. “And likes me. He’ll do it.”

Mark exchanges a look with Ten, and he knows they’re both thinking the same thing — they hope it’s not _the_ Jackson. 

But before anyone can ask, Taeil stands up and crosses the distance between him and Taeyong to squeeze his shoulder. 

“We’re not going to Jackson, and that’s final.”

Mark tenses at the same time Johnny does, both of them leaning forward. Something is weird with this dynamic. Taeyong is supposed to be the leader, isn’t he?

“We need to get out of Seoul,” Taeyong grits through his teeth. “Do you propose we go on foot?”

“That’d be unproductive as fuck, and we’ll get noticed faster than if we take the company car,” Ten notes with an ironic smirk. 

Taeyong rolls his eyes and snaps at him. “That was rhetoric.”

Mark physically feels Ten’s urge to poke his tongue out at him. It certainly wouldn’t be the first instance of Ten acting like a kid to disarm their targets. 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Ten clicks his tongue and turns to the others to address the room at large. “If Taeyong here would bother to finish listening to me, he’d know that I plan to hire a few cars through _my_ civilian contacts. We can leave Seoul on them and be in Jinju by morning.”

“We’ll have to be the ones driving,” Sicheng speaks up calmly from the couch. “We have a safehouse there to settle at, and we know the best way to get into the city unnoticed.”

“Seems fair,” Johnny responds. Mark almost rolls his eyes. Is he sucking up to everyone on that team or is he only going for those with a magical libido? Asshole. 

“Yeah, it’s not like we have a choice,” Ten sighs. “Get yourself ready. We leave after midnight.”

“We can pack in half an hour,” Taeyong contradicts. “The faster we leave, the better.”

“No, we need to wait.” Ten doesn’t leave him an opportunity to argue, turning around and going for his room. 

Taeyong closes his eyes, trying to control his temper. “Why?”

“Because I said so,” Ten answers offhandedly and disappears inside. “Mark, Johnny, I need you here.”

Mark follows him into the room, not missing the look Taeyong sends his way. He probably wants to be consulting with Ten, too, but it seems they haven’t been getting along well lately. 

He ignores the fact that Johnny hangs back for a few seconds to say something to Jaehyun. He doesn’t care. 

3

**September 28, 2017, 03:12**

_San Francisco, US. TOUCH HQ_

It’s been a year. Ten’s amazed Hendery has been able to hide it for so long. He either didn’t have an episode during all that time or graduated from a spy school. Which he kinda did. 

He shakes the pills in the bottle while he waits for Hendery to open the door. Which he doesn’t, because of course. Ten doubts he can even get out of bed. He takes the liberty of entering without permission, because he’s the leader of this team and loves the kid like a little brother, so fuck privacy when it comes to his safety. 

The image he’s met with isn’t surprising yet it still makes his heart ache. All the blinds are closed, not letting in even the slightest ray of the artificial sun. There’s outlines of a blanket burrito on the bed. He sighs and closes the door behind him, going to the window and letting the light in and turning on the air venting system. It smells stale and stuffy here. Hendery needs fresh air. 

“Don’t, please,” comes weakly from under the blankets, but he ignores it. 

Ten falls on the bed, lying down on his back with his arms crossed. There’s pictures on Hendery’s ceiling — of the team, the city, his hometown, his time at the Academy. Ten suddenly guesses that’s why Hendery closed the blinds — not to see them. 

_You lied to me_ , he wants to say. But it won’t do either of them any good. 

He holds up a bottle and shakes it. Hendery is watching it with dull eyes. His hair looks greasy where Ten can see it sticking out from under the blanket. He’s been in his room for four days. If it wasn’t for Mark bringing him food, he’d starve here. 

Hendery opens his mouth, his lips forming the beginning of ‘What’s that?’, but he gives up halfway, staying silent. 

“Lithium,” Ten responds nevertheless. “Three times a day for awhile, then I’ll talk to your doctor and ask if we need to change the dosage.”

Hendery doesn’t respond. Ten turns his head to him fully, regarding his face for the first time since he came inside.

He looks dead. It’s ironic that his body technically is but his brain still has enough synapses to fuck shit up. Hendery doesn’t bleed, but his soul does, if Ten’s being poetic about it. 

“And yeah, you have a therapist now,” he informs him. “I hooked you up with a guy I know outside of the department. It won’t go on your file. But I _am_ still curious about why you chose to hide it. It wouldn’t affect your acceptance. TOUCH aren’t some medieval monsters. You’d get regular treatment and check-ups.”

Hendery blinks extremely slowly, his eyes glazed over. His lips are dry and chapped. 

“How did you know?” He croaks out very quietly. Ten holds back from flinching. 

“I was suspecting for a while,” Ten shares. “Your behavior tipped me off. I have a bipolar manticore for a mother figure. Kinda recognized the symptoms. I don’t even think you noticed entering a manic episode a few weeks ago.”

It wasn’t strange to see Hendery all over the place because he was always extremely energetic and eager to work. It also wasn’t strange to find him drained and sleeping for too long after an exhausting assignment they completed in Paris. It wasn’t until Johnny emerged from the basement after a full moon that Ten realized Hendery’s suddenly declined two days before the lunar cycle change. It brought a memory — Bogdana’s face under the moonshine, and a realization — Ten is a fucking idiot. 

He recounts it all to Hendery in a calm voice, pausing here and there to gather his thoughts. He doesn’t want the kid to feel like he’s not trusted anymore. Ten just wishes he wouldn’t hide it. 

“I also called someone named Kara Queen,” he recalls quietly, finding a blonde woman on one of the pictures and finally putting a face to the voice. “She’s documented as your legal guardian. She confirmed my suspicions. She also told me you haven’t had an episode in over four years. Said you stopped taking your antidepressants because you developed an addiction. Asked me if she needs to come.”

Hendery whines suddenly, pushing his face into the pillow. Ten moves closer and wraps his hand around Hendery’s back, bringing him closer. His skin is damp from sweat but Ten doesn’t mind. He really fucking loves the guy. 

“I told her I can handle it,” he whispers. “You’re my kid now, too. And I’ll die before I let it take you.”

He thinks Hendery may be crying, but he lets him do it without interruption. 

“Do you hate me?” Hendery croaks out, voice muffled. “For lying?”

Ten doesn’t respond right away. If he hastens, Hendery will think he’s only placating him. He sighs. 

“I could never,” he says honestly. “But from now on, I need you to always be honest with me. No matter what it’s about.”

“I just didn’t want them to brand me.” He sobs, his body shaking. Ten holds him closer. 

“It’s not something to be ashamed of, Hendery.” He closes his eyes, cursing each and every asshole that ever made this boy feel like less of a person just because he has a mental illness. “But I will keep it a secret if you want me to.”

Hendery doesn’t respond, but Ten feels hands on his chest, gripping his shirt, fingers digging into him in gratitude. He kisses Hendery’s forehead. “I will always protect you as long as you’re honest with me and don’t let it define you. You’re Hendery, the unique sunshine of our sociophobic department, and nothing can change that.”

Hendery ends up falling asleep in his arms after Ten helps him take the first pill. Ten stares at his face for a long time, wondering.

One thing he knows for sure — nobody ever tells this boy there’s something wrong with him. Never again. 

3

**May 19, 2019, 23:40**

_Seoul, South Korea_

_Safehouse_

Hendery watches Taeyong disappear in Ten’s room and turns to Xiaojun, who’s done packing and is sitting in between the bags looking lost. Yangyang is out with Johnny and Mark getting the cars, so nobody can stop him from coming over and striking up a conversation, right? Taeil and Sicheng are somewhere in the apartment, and Jaehyun left with the others.

“Hey,” he starts, sitting down next to Xiaojun but still keeping a respectable distance. 

The boy looks more tense than he did this morning, and Hendery doesn’t blame him. He’s still bashing himself for asking that stupid question, but there’s a voice at the back of his mind reminding him it’s not his fault. He was just being polite. Nothing wrong with that. 

Xiaojun nods at him but doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even try this time. 

“Don’t be nervous, okay? Ten will protect you, I promise,” Hendery assures him. “He’s a good man. The best of them, probably.”

Not probably, definitely, but he doesn’t think it’s a time and place to wax poetic about Ten’s character, no matter how much he wants. Ten accepted him with all his faults and helped him through some of the hardest times, and he’s not simply a great leader and friend — he’s an extremely amazing person. Hendery deeply regrets the fact he can’t walk around and give out pamphlets about it. He’d totally enjoy it. 

Xiaojun nods with a small smile, but it falls away the next second because the door to Ten’s room is thrown open and Taeyong storms into the living room, face livid. 

“How the fuck am I supposed to tolerate that _dickface_?” He asks nobody in particular. 

Hendery frowns, ready to jump to Ten’s defense, but the man himself emerges from the room with a shiteating grin. Ah, so it’s _that_ case. Ten’s favorite cracking technique. Annoying them long enough for them to spill all their secrets. He’s wonderfully good at that. 

“I simply asked you a question,” Ten singsongs, crossing his arms in front of him. 

Taeyong points an accusatory finger at him. “No, you refused to answer _my_ question before I answer yours.”

“A simple barter,” Ten says, shrugging and making that well-fed cat face of his Hendery secretly adores. “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine. Tell me how you know Jeremy Wong and why are you so sure he’s the one hunting you.”

“Fine!” Taeyong throws his hands up in the air. “I used to sleep with that asshole, okay?”

Ten whistles and raises an eyebrow. “And then he became your mortal enemy? Kinky.”

“I had bad taste in men back in the sixties,” Taeyong murmurs, suddenly embarrassed. “Apparently, I’ve always had it.”

That sounds like an interesting start to a fascinating story, but Taeyong shakes his head as if to get rid of that particular memory. 

Also, the sixties? Hendery knows fairies live long, but Taeyong doesn’t look a day past twenty-three. 

“Anyway, I broke it off when I found out about his extracurricular interests.” Taeyong flinches. “Back then it was a simple interest in bloodplay and voyeurism. Apparently, he upgraded to a full-on sadist.”

“Sad,” Ten comments, but it’s as fake as his smile. 

The door opens, revealing a panting Johnny with the others on his heels. The atmosphere changes in an instant, all of their guns flying up in the air to battle the yet-invisible threat. 

“We need to leave,” Johnny says, his voice deep and hoarse. “Now.”

“Wha—”

The windows shattering deafen Hendery for a second, his reflexes kicking in and throwing him on the floor. By the time he stands back up, taking the safety off his gun, the room is almost full of agents wrapped in black uniform, their faces indistinguishable. He reaches out for Xiaojun in instinct but the boy is no longer there. 

He finds Ten with his eyes and sees him frozen, looking around wildly and realizing that their odds are screwed. Hendery takes a step toward him but sees something before he can get to him — a flying figure, rapidly approaching the window Ten is standing before. 

He doesn’t have time to warn him, Hendery realizes, but there’s someone who beats him to it. 

Taeyong grabs Ten’s arm, his face terrified. “ _Chai!_ ”

He drags Ten away with a strong jerk, but it results in the agent crashing into him instead, throwing him on the floor. Taeyong groans but doesn’t resist, and Hendery knows something is wrong with it but he’s too shocked to think too much of it. 

It’s all a confusing mess, and he feels someone on his left, discovering Yang’s hand with great relief. He wants to ask what to do, wants to get to Ten, but there’s too many people, and Taeyong is being tied down, and _he needs to get to Ten._

“Lee Taeyong,” comes from the door, and suddenly — all the movement in the room dies down. 

Hendery doesn’t see who’s speaking at first, but the figure comes to light with a crunching sound of his shoes on the broken glass. He’s the only one of the agents with his face showing, the black turtleneck highlighting his strong jaw and white hair. He’s wearing a long black robe, its edges flying around him as he crouches before Taeyong. The fairy is on his knees, blood trickling from his forehead. 

“Namjoon,” Taeyong greets him, panting. “Long time no see. What brings you here?”

“Funny,” Namjoon comments and finds Ten with his eyes. “Good job at capturing your target, agent.”

Hendery sees Ten’s jaw stand out. He doesn’t answer. 

“You’re under arrest, Taeyong,” Namjoon informs him calmly.

“Nice,” Taeyong says evenly. “Twice in two days. My personal record.”

There’s a crowing sound suddenly, and Hendery watches as a huge raven flies into the room through the broken window and lands on Namjoon’s shoulder. The man doesn’t even react when the bird settles there, its head tilted funnily. 

Taeyong looks at it, chuckling gravely. “Good job.”

“It wasn’t him. You got ratted out,” Namjoon informs him in a conversational manner, stroking the raven’s wings. 

Taeyong’s eyebrow twitches and he goes as if to stand up, but the agents holding him only tighten their grip. He stares at the floor angrily. Hendery sees Ten drill him with his gaze. Calm. Ten seems too calm. 

Ten insisted they wait until midnight. 

No. 

He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t snitch on them, right? He decided to trust them. No. 

“Cuff and bring them all into the van,” Namjoon commands, standing up. “We’ll figure out who’s getting locked up when we get to the base.”

Hendery hears someone growling and suspects Johnny, but he still can’t look away from Ten. His face is unreadable. 

_He’s a good man. The best of them, probably._

The world always made an awful lot of sense to Hendery. Right now, however, he begs for it to give him an answer to the question he doesn’t want to ask. 

It stays silent. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeaaaaah so this was long overdue. sorry! I really am! real life is getting in the way, and the writer's block has been a bitch,,,, anyway  
> thank you for reading and leaving kudos and comments~!  
> wanna discuss it? yell? just be friends? hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara) or [cc](https://curiouscat.me/romulusadhara)!  
> mwah, luv y'all


	4. swim.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I miss the times I liked you.”  
> “That existed?”  
> “Yeah, for like fifteen minutes.”

_[Jung Jaehyun ](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara/status/1138408150321774595) _

> **race** :incubus

> **age** : 22 [59 (i)] 

> **position** : [redacted] {Seoul branch of TOUCH} 

> **relations** : Lee Taeyong [redacted] 

> **education** : [x]

### 4

**November 29, 1996, 19:46**

_West Fargo, North Dakota, United States_

Jaehyun meets Lee Taeyong on a rainy November evening. Winter is almost here, and he can already see it every morning as he’s walking to work, frost decorating the ground with intricate patterns of oncoming December. 

He loves when it’s cold. It gives him a chance to wrap himself into as many sweaters and scarves as he wants, hide his entire body behind wool and cotton without the fear of someone seeing his skin and deciding they want a piece of it. It’s hard to hide in the summer, when he feels on display with every step he takes outside his house or the bookshop. It was easier when Mom was around, because people tended to look at her instead of him, and she gladly averted the attention from him. He misses her terribly, and every memory cuts into his mind like an unexpected cold draft that comes from outside when someone enters the shop. 

Just like now — he feels a chill on his neck and the telltale chiming of the bells by the door. He’s been sorting the new arrival, carefully marking each book with his favorite stickers and setting them on appropriate shelves. The delivery came late today because of the storm, but he doesn’t mind staying late. It’s not like he has anything more interesting to do than spend a long evening surrounded by books. 

“Excuse me, we’re closing soon!” He shouts toward the door. 

He hears a scuffle as the customer searches for the source of the voice. “Uhm, sorry? I wanted to ask you something, though.”

The voice doesn’t sound familiar, and Jaehyun knows two generations of his regulars. Out-of-area people rarely come here, especially in the evening, especially in this weather. He walks around the shelf to take a look at the newcomer and sees a man next to the Greek mythology section. He smiles automatically, noting that the stranger looks a little lost. 

“Hi,” Jaehyun says softly, coming closer, a little wary. The man doesn’t look dangerous, but Jaehyun knows better than anyone that appearances can be deceiving. “What can I help you with?”

The man swallows nervously, rubbing his palms. “This might sound strange, but I’m looking for a book.”

Jaehyun can’t help it — he laughs, looking around them. “I wonder where you could get one of those.”

The stranger looks confused for a second, but then the irony of his words catches up to him, and he laughs too, hesitant at first, as if he’s afraid to show his smile to someone he just met. But then his eyes warm up and he lets the humor take over him completely, laughter falling off his lips like a song. Jaehyun decides that he likes him. Bad people never laugh this nicely. 

“Yeah, sorry, I’ve had a long trip,” he explains, a smile still playing on his lips. “I just checked into the hotel, actually. Thought I’d start my search in the morning, but then realized I can’t sit still.” He rubs his hands together again, but something tells Jaehyun he’s not cold. A nervous habit, perhaps. “I’m Taeyong, by the way.”

Jaehyun briefly wonders why would he get acquainted with a foreigner that will most likely disappear from his life in a few weeks, at most, but his hospitality instincts kick in before he can do anything about it. 

“Jaehyun,” he introduces himself quietly, waving a little. “I’d offer you a handshake, but…”

He trails off, hoping that Taeyong gets it himself. He doesn’t look like a human, the sharp edges of his eyes and ears suggesting someone from magic clans, and Jaehyun thinks he won’t mind him avoiding contact. 

Taeyong doesn’t disappoint him. He nods in understanding and rubs his wrist. “Same. Touch telepathy has gotta suck, right?”

“That’s not it,” Jaehyun says, shaking it off. “But you’re mostly right. Anyway, the book?”

Taeyong comes closer, and Jaehyun gets to see his face better. It strikes him as not so much beautiful as wise. He’s handsome, that’s undeniable, but there is a far greater beauty hidden beneath, he feels it. A sharp mind. Taeyong’s hair is fair under his hat, and Jaehyun admires the slight glow it has under the dim lighting of the shop. He’s all bundled up in a scarf and a large coat, not unlike Jaehyun himself dresses every day as soon as the thermometer drops below fifty. 

“I actually have just a quote from it,” Taeyong confesses with a frown. “If you could recognize it, that would be amazing.”

“Sure, I’ll try!” He glances at his watch and bites his lip. It’s getting later, and he still needs to sort the delivery, but whatever. Talking to Taeyong seems like a more interesting prospect anyway. 

Taeyong rummages through his pockets and gets out a sheet of yellow paper, unfolding it. It looks like he’s done that same motion hundreds of times already, because the edges and creases are worn out. Jaehyun feels familiar energy from that. He likes to take out quotes from books and write them down, only to forget them in one of his countless pockets or bags. He finds them occasionally, and each time they seem to appear whenever he needs them the most. 

Taeyong’s fingers are shaking, he notes, but once again, he doubts it’s from the cold. Jaehyun realizes he’s curious about him. 

“ _Some people feel like they don't deserve love. They walk away quietly into empty spaces, trying to close the gaps of the past,_ ” Taeyong reads shakily, his eyes barely moving over the lines. As if he’s already memorized it perfectly and pretends to read it out just for Jaehyun’s benefit. 

“Jon Krakauer,” Jaehyun supplies, instantly recognizing the quote. “ _Into the Wild_.”

Taeyong looks up at him in surprise, and it baffles Jaehyun. Because for a second there, he thought he saw fear in his eyes. Was he afraid Jaehyun would recognize it? But why, if this is why he came here?

“That was fast,” Taeyong murmurs with a great deal of relief, and Jaehyun decides it was just a trick of the light. 

Jaehyun shrugs a little, already walking to the shelf with the book. “It’s a bestseller this year. Quite an interesting read. Too subjective for a book that claims to be a non-fiction biography, but that’s just my take.” He quickly finds a copy and tugs at it to carefully lift it off the shelf and present it to Taeyong. “To each its own.”

Taeyong doesn’t take it at first, staring at the cover almost reverently, his fingers trembling as he traces the title. Jaehyun watches his eyes widen as he finally takes it in his hands and opens it on a random page. Peculiar. Jaehyun met his fair share of book worms who treat every book as a treasure — gods know he’s one of them — but something about the way Taeyong cradles the cover rings religious. 

“Why this one?” He asks, unable to help himself. “Where did you get the quote?”

Taeyong doesn’t react at first, still hypnotized by the book, but then he blinks, slowly emerging from his haze and smiling crookedly. “Just heard it from someone.”

“No wonder,” Jaehyun hums. “Everybody is talking about it.”

He walks to the register, already preparing to ring it up. “I’m assuming you’re taking it?”

Taeyong nods and puts it carefully on the counter, staring at it like he can’t wait to start reading. Jaehyun scans the book and tells him the price, grateful that Taeyong pays without change. He bites his tongue until the book is back in Taeyong’s arms, already his property, but then can’t help himself and speaks up. 

“To be honest, you don’t strike me as someone who’d enjoy that kind of writing,” he says, regretting it as soon as it’s out. Mom always said he’s awful at filtering the way he talks to people. Fourteen years later, and it’s still true. 

Taeyong doesn’t seem offended, though, instead chuckling and quirking his eyebrow. “And what do you think I’d enjoy?”

Jaehyun leans on his elbows, tilting his head as he regards Taeyong with a sly smile. “Romance novels.”

Taeyong gasps theatrically, putting a hand to his heart. “Is that an insult?”

“Just an observation,” Jaehyun murmurs. He feels rather content talking to this man, and it is possibly alarming, but he cannot find it in himself to care. 

“You don’t know me,” Taeyong says with a huff, avoiding his eyes. “But somehow, you’re right.”

“See?” Jaehyun leans even further, trying to catch his eyes. 

Taeyong looks out of this world. His presence creates an aura of something so gentle and barely noticeable that Jaehyun feels drawn to him like a dying moth to the gentle glow of a flame.

“Wanna get a drink? There’s a nice cafe nearby. I’ve been craving their cocoa since I woke up today.” He doesn’t really expect himself to do this, and neither does Taeyong, judging by the way his eyes widen and he steps away from the counter a little, his face lost. Shit. 

“Listen, I’m flattered, but…” He trails off, visibly uncomfortable, and Jaehyun curses himself internally. 

“It’s not like that,” he rushes to say, swallowing nervously. “I mean… Shit. I just like talking to you, okay? It’s not like that, I promise.”

Taeyong looks unsure, glancing between Jaehyun and the door, as if contemplating making a run for it. He looks so anxious Jaehyun wants to slap himself. 

“I’m an incubus,” he blurts out. “If I wanted to sleep with you, you wouldn’t even be able to resist.”

It’s ugly, but it’s true. He never uses his powers, the simple thought of seducing someone without their consent making bile rise in his throat, but he knows the reputation his fellow brethren created for their entire species. It makes him mad and forces him to hide what he is most of the time, popping pills that get more expensive each year, but something about Taeyong urges him to be honest. 

“You feel like someone who’s been around awhile,” he shares. Taeyong still looks wary. “And I don’t meet a lot of people like that.”

Taeyong blinks, and in that single movement of his eyelashes all the animosity drains out of him, instead replaced by curiosity. “How old are you?”

Jaehyun chuckles. “Around twenty years older than I look. I’m thirty-six.”

He expects Taeyong to be surprised again, but his expression doesn’t change. He nods and smiles, that warm feeling coming back to gently nudge Jaehyun’s sympathies for the guy. 

“I’m a few centuries ahead of you,” Taeyong breathes out with a laugh. “So you’re right.”

They look at each other, and something new passes in the air. An understanding, perhaps. 

“So about that drink?” Jaehyun repeats again, promising himself that he won’t press if Taeyong declines again. 

“Gladly,” Taeyong responds to his surprise.

Jaehyun closes the shop twenty minutes later, no longer caring about the still unsorted delivery. It’s a tomorrow-him problem now. 

Talking to Taeyong turns out to be the easiest thing he’s ever done in his life. In the course of seven cups of that amazing cocoa, he learns that Taeyong is a fairy, and he’s been searching for something for years now. His voice drops when he mentions a job he quit last year, choosing to give himself to the search for that one mythical someone he keeps mentioning. He clearly doesn’t like to talk about it, but one way or another, it always comes back to it, and Jaehyun sees traces of sadness and longing in the corners of his eyes when he speaks about them.

“It’s a book I suppose can help me,” Taeyong says quietly as they leave the cafe, wrapping themselves up in scarves. Cold rain trickles from the sky, and Jaehyun thinks it would be hail if the temperature was a little lower. “I don’t know how yet, or if it even will, but… I hope.”

“You sound like someone who’s been riding on hope for far too long,” Jaehyun notes softly as they walk down the street. “I know it’s none of my business, but… It sounds sad.”

“I know,” Taeyong chuckles gravely. “Trust me. I know.”

They part ways on the crossroad, and Taeyong promises to drop in tomorrow.

He does, carrying the sounds of street music and his own laughter into the shop, bubbling about the book he devoured in one evening, and they talk about the impact it has on humanity’s vision of the world. Jaehyun recommends him some of his favorite novels, and Taeyong reads them where he is, sitting on the small armchair Jaehyun set up in the back. He’s reading like he’s living through the stories himself, and Jaehyun gets distracted by how animated his face is. Taeyong never clearly mentioned exactly how old he is, but he’s definitely been around for a long time. Jaehyun has never met an immortal, but he always guessed they’re mostly just sad and hopeless. 

Taeyong isn’t like that. Taeyong looks like every day he’s just starting his life. Jaehyun admires that. 

They become friends pretty quickly, and Jaehyun finds himself trusting this man faster than he ever trusted anyone, but he doesn’t mind. Taeyong doesn’t feel like someone who would exploit him, and Jaehyun returns his kindness with more book recommendations. 

Eventually, Taeyong has to leave. It’s only been a week, but Jaehyun already feels the terrible pull of missing his presence, so he doesn’t let himself think about it twice when he hugs Taeyong goodbye. 

“You have my address,” he murmurs. “Don’t get lost.”

“I promise,” Taeyong whispers, looking at him with such warmth it chases away the frost of the morning. “We‘ll stay in touch no matter what.”

Taeyong is a constant traveler, but he gives Jaehyun an address for a mailbox in New York he sometimes checks up on. He promises to come visit in a few months, and Jaehyun nods, even if he doesn’t really believe someone would drag themselves to West Fargo just to see his sorry ass. Taeyong hugs him again and lets it linger. 

Jaehyun receives the first letter two weeks later, his cheeks almost cracking from how wide he’s smiling, staring at the rectangular paper in his hands. He reads it on his way to work, almost slipping at least three times but never looking up from the lines nevertheless. Taeyong seems to be doing great. He moved on from North Dakota to Montana, planning to go around the coast and eventually end up in California. 

_I don’t exactly know why, but something tells me I need to be there. Maybe it won’t be the end of my journey, but it certainly feels like a milestone, you know?_

Jaehyun writes his response right away, hunching over the counter and letting his thoughts pour out without revising, because that’s what talking to Taeyong feels like — complete freedom. He hears the door to the shop open, but doesn’t mind it, thinking absentmindedly that he’ll look up once he finishes a paragraph. 

The customer goes inside, walking around the shelves, and Jaehyun childishly decides to ignore them a little bit more because he just remembered he wanted to tell Taeyong about a new book he’s read. 

He mails it later that day, smiling as it goes down the box, and goes to the cafe to warm up and read Taeyong’s letter again. He will eagerly await the answer, excited to hear from his new friend again, never noticing someone watching him from the other side of the road. 

He will go to sleep still thinking about Taeyong’s letter, blissfully unaware that his return address is about to change forever. 

4

**May 20, 2019, 06:45**

_Seoul, South Korea_

_TOUCH HQ_

“Spotless record.”

The file lands on the table with a dull thud that send needles of headache up Ten’s temples. He doesn’t flinch. The white light jumps off the table and hurts his eyes, but he keeps staring at it in favor of not looking at himself in the mirror on the opposite wall. That will make it real. 

He’s being interrogated at the Seoul TOUCH Headquarters, his team is fuck knows where, probably in lockup, the morgen kid is most definitely in danger, and it’s all his fault. 

The guy Taeyong called Namjoon sits down, lifting up his coat as not to crease it. Ten thinks it’s pretentious. It’s hot in here, why would he even be wearing a coat if not for the singular purpose of showing off?

“You need anything?” He asks, fake-concerned. “Water maybe? It must suck to have been here for so long.”

“You obviously haven’t been to Florida,” Ten murmurs, immediately chastising himself for not keeping his mouth shut. 

“I have, actually.” Namjoon smiles. “1976. Lovely place.”

Ten thinks his tastes suck, but stays silent, blissfully. Namjoon opens his file and skims through it, but Ten knows that’s just a show too. He must’ve went through it already before coming in here. That’s what Ten does before questioning someone. 

“So, as I was saying about your record,” Namjoon hums. “ _Almost_ spotless. Apart from a little civil disturbance in Luxembourg, you’re a picture perfect TOUCH agent.”

Ten stays silent. He still isn’t sure if he’s being accused of something here, but he knows trying to jump in with his cover story too early on can backfire. He looks up to meet Namjoon’s eyes and smiles sweetly. 

“Thank you, agent,” he says quietly. 

“Ah, right.” Namjoon smirks and pulls out his ID, sliding it on the table. “Kim Namjoon, Seoul Cavalry Department.” 

Ten throws a glance at his card and arches an eyebrow. “Funny name.”

“My team is too diversified to assign a usual title.” Namjoon flips a page in the file and chuckles. “Like your team here. Nocturnal department. Sounds like a mouthful. You got a nickname for them? I call mine _CAV_.”

Too friendly. Ten’s skin is crawling. 

“I just call them nighties,” he says with a polite smile. “I’m the only one who isn’t classified in the Nocturnal category.”

“Yes, you’re a shapeshifter,” Namjoon drawls, looking over his face. “Rarity in TOUCH and overall, which is honestly a shame. Who’s better with a disguise if not you?”

“That’s what I’ve been telling them, sir.”

“Honorary graduation,” Namjoon keeps reading. “Early command. A four point ninety-nine success rate. Excellent recommendations. Three medals.”

Ten knows where this is going, and it’s pissing him off. Objectively, he knows the tactic Namjoon is using is effective, but personally, he’d like him to get it over with already. 

“I’m seeing an agent here who may as well be leading this entire organization,” Namjoon notes, shifting his eyes from the paper to Ten slowly. “So why didn’t you kill him, agent?”

There’s only a handful of ways this could go. Ten can tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and hope for the best. He can also deny ever talking to Taeyong outside of the time he supposedly arrested him, and hope for the best. Either way, he’ll be riding on hope that this dude right here doesn’t file him up with the traitors. But if life has taught Ten something, it’s that hope is a lady with a real shitty taste in men, and he’s definitely not her type. 

So he takes the third way, the one that always inevitably ends up saving his ass, even if it’s deemed idiotic by some, or most, people he knows. 

He follows his gut.

“I have made the decision to transport him to the nearest headquarters to stand before the tribunal,” he says evenly. “I believe everybody’s entitled to a fair trial.”

Namjoon pouts in thought, nodding. “I share the sentiment. Only your assignment clearly stated to eliminate the target and _then_ deliver the rest of his _team_ to headquarters.”

“I had a hunch,” Ten drawls, choosing his words carefully. If it was only him, he’d easily bullshit his way out of this. But it’s his team that’s at stake here. 

“You get those often?” Namjoon clicks his tongue. “Because as your file so helpfully provides, you have eleven kill assignments on you record. All executed flawlessly and not held back until the trial. What’s so special about Lee Taeyong?”

His eyes. That’s what’s so special, Ten thinks. But that won’t really fly past a judge, so he holds it back. 

“Also,” Namjoon goes on, putting his elbows on the table and leaning forward. Ten remembers this table being sticky as fuck, and Namjoon must know it and just doesn’t care, which just confirms Ten’s suspicions. He’s showing off, but he doesn’t really care for the safety of his pompous clothing. Interesting. “You didn’t know if your target got his trial. As far as your assignment stated, he was a deserter who kidnapped four people. What if he was tried and found guilty of a crime yet escaped? That’s classified information that you had no way of procuring.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Ten huffs, leaning back in his chair. It creaks, sending another wave of pain down his head. “I’ve been in TOUCH for roughly half my life. Nobody ever escapes after being sentenced. Unless they’re really skilled or have help.”

Namjoon drills him with his gaze, and Ten holds it with his head held high. Something stinks here. He’s seen his fair share of interrogations, and heaven knows he’s done a few himself, but this doesn’t feel like one. 

“Walk me through it,” Namjoon says suddenly, crossing his arms over his chest. “What happened when you found Lee Taeyong?”

Ten’s jaw tenses for a fraction of a second but he makes himself relax. Play it cool. “We tracked them down to an apartment uptown and staked out. Made sure everybody was safe inside, then made an arrest. I got a fractional reading off Lee and realized something was fishy there. My main priority was the morgen, and they seemed to have a friendly relationship, which is why I decided not to traumatize the kid more than he already was and transfer them all to the safehouse, from where we would go on to the headquarters. But you got there before we could proceed, and well, you know the rest. How did you know where to look, by the way?”

“We got an anonymous tip,” Namjoon says simply. Something about him suggests that’s all the info on the subject Ten is going to get, but it doesn’t ease his worry. The only people who could even tip him off were inside the safehouse. And five of them weren’t interested in being caught. 

“About that fracture reading,” Namjoon implores. “Nice touch, but why haven’t you done a full one? That would have given you enough information to finish the assignment. Besides, if he has a rapport with morgen, you could’ve went for him.”

Ten curls his lips but reminds himself to be calm. If his guess is right, he’s just being taunted. “Lee wouldn’t let me hold the contact for too long. And morgen was already allegedly abused, that’s not to mention the history of his entire species. Forgive me for not wanting to violate the traumatized kid's mental space.”

Namjoon’s eyes flash with something, and Ten belatedly wonders about his species. Wouldn’t put it past him to be a telepathic kind. He looks at the ID again, spotting a simple ‘witch’. Doesn’t prove or disprove anything, since as far as Ten knows, they have a lot of tricks up their sleeves, and only half of those are known to outsiders. 

He catches another line on the card and frowns. “It says your unit is stationed in Daegu.”

Namjoon blinks and takes the ID back, his jaw hard. “We alternate. Maybe it’s done another way in the US, but in South Korea, every unit bears the name of the capital. But no, we’re actually working in Daegu.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Ten wonders with a frown. “That’s a long way from home.”

Namjoon swallows and pokes the inside of his lip with his tongue, assessing Ten. “I’m also a member of the High Council.”

Ten feels the blood freeze in his veins. Suddenly, Namjoon doesn’t seem as pompous or pretentious. For the first time since coming here, Ten feels actual fear before the man. 

Because if there’s a High Council fucking member running errands for a routine raid, Ten is majorly fucked, and so is his team. 

“My official goal in Seoul is to pick up the morgen and deliver him to a safe, protected environment,” Namjoon explains. “He has a right to the standard Red Data List package, and I was dispatched to see to it that he receives it.”

Only Xiaojun isn’t in the database, and no, it’s not High Council business to arrange accommodations for every person who’s actually on there. This kid is someone bigger, and Kim Namjoon from Daegu isn’t here to interrogate Ten on the basis of him failing his assignment. Something is terribly, extremely not right here. 

“Why were you the one raiding the safehouse, then?” Ten pushes out from his numb lips. “If you’re not on the case?”

Namjoon shakes his head and chuckles. “There isn’t a case, Ten. Not against you, at least, or your team.”

Ten reckons he’s supposed to be relieved, but he’ll only feel that way when he hugs Yangyang and Hendery. He’s worried about all the nighties, but Johnny and Mark are self-sufficient enough without him. It’s the kids that never leave Ten’s mind. 

“Then what are we doing here, agent?”

“Just talking.” Namjoon plasters a smile on his face and shrugs. “You’re an exceptional individual, and I’m still waiting for another Council member to go about the morgen business. Thought I’d pass the time.”

Ten wants to throw a chair at him, but instead he mirrors his fake smile. “I’ve had a rather long night, and I still have to contact my Department Head to update her on what’s happening. So if you don’t mind-”

“Jennie Kim has already been brought up to speed by me personally,” Namjoon interrupts him. “She’s rather displeased with the way it turned out, but she vouched for your trustworthiness and insisted on us not pressing any charges until you’re safely home.”

Well, that’s going to be a fucking pleasant ride. Ten grunts, but covers it up with a cough. “Great, then. I still need to see my team and get some rest.”

“They’re safe, don’t worry.”

“I _will_ worry until I see them alive and well before me,” Ten insists. 

Namjoon chuckles and nods, gesturing for the door. “You’re free to go, then. We set you up with an apartment within the department, I’ll have an agent escort you. Your team is already there.”

Ten doesn’t stick around for goodbye pleasantries, standing up to stretch his legs and back. He’s been stuck here for hours, but he decides not to ask Namjoon why he was left stewing here if there’s isn’t a case against him. It’s still fucking strange that there isn’t, but Ten knows how to pick his battles, and this one isn’t the right one. 

“One more question, agent,” Namjoon calls out after him. 

Ten turns around, schooling his scowl into a polite expression. “Yes?”

“Let’s assume for a second that he asked for your help,” Namjoon hypothesizes, his fingers fiddling with Ten’s file. “I’m not asking this as an agent, just as a person who wants to know you better. Say, he convinces you he was falsely accused. What would you do?”

He feels how sweaty his palm is where he’s gripping the handle. He swallows and takes a more careful look at Namjoon, his profile carved into the air under the fluorescents. What are you playing at, Kim Namjoon?

“I would do the right thing, agent,” Ten murmurs. “Good day.”

4

**May 20, 2019, 07:30**

_Seoul, South Korea_

_TOUCH HQ_

Ten’s hands shake all the way to the apartment they were provided with and only stop their fidgeting when he’s done hugging Yang and Hendery. Mark looks like he could use a hug too, but Ten knows how much he cares about his badass reputation, so he just claps his shoulder before turning to Johnny. 

“Are we alone?

“Yes. No bugs, we checked.”

“Have you been interrogated?” 

“No,” Johnny breathes out, biting his thumb. “We were brought here as soon as they took you. What’s going on?”

“Are we fucked?” Mark jumps in, his eyes searching Ten’s face wildly as if he can guess his thoughts if he stares hard enough. 

“Jennie covered for us,” Ten says with a sigh. “We’re in the clear here, but I have a feeling I’ll be extremely fucked when we go back home.”

“Are we?” Yangyang pipes up, his hands hidden deep in the pocket of his hoodie. “Going home?”

Ten sighs with a strain, looking over his dark eyes and exhausted exterior. This boy belongs home in San Francisco, just like his teammates, but instead they’re here, a step away from jail. 

“We should,” Johnny drawls. He’s leaning on the wall near the window, a sliver of light getting through the blinds and falling on his face. “But we’re not.”

Ten licks his lips, seeing his own thoughts reflected in Johnny’s eyes. Only he’s not saying it because he shares Ten’s resolve, he’s simply stating a fact. 

The other turns to Ten expectantly, and he makes himself meet Mark’s eyes, knowing that he’s going to be resisting the most. 

“I can’t just leave Xiaojun,” he whispers desperately. 

Mark’s eyes flutter closed for a second before he shrugs indifferently. “I won’t be talking you out of it. It’s pointless anyway. The only choice we can take here is whether to follow you or go home.”

“We’re not abandoning Ten,” Yang suddenly yelps, bulging his eyes out at Mark. “No way.”

“Nobody is saying we have to. It’s still an option we should admit.”

Ten notes he looks tired, and it’s not just because he’s awake during the daylight or stressed beyond reasonable comprehension. Something else is at play here, but there’s that tell of Mark’s in the way he’s slumping his shoulders. Ten isn’t getting an answer out of him unless he wants to talk himself. 

“Did you see where they took Anteros?” 

“I’m pretty sure Xiaojun is in the infirmary,” Johnny says. “The others are in another apartment somewhere in this wing.”

Ten frowns, pondering on that. Xiaojun looked pale and sickly, but it didn’t look like he needed medical assistance. If he did, Mark would provide it. Perhaps, they just wanted to separate the kid from the rest of the potentially dangerous team? Why wouldn’t they throw them in jail then? He wants to ask all that out loud, but the others look dead on their feet, so he keeps it to himself for now. 

“You should get some rest,” Ten decrees after all. “I’ll go talk to Taeyong.”

“Why?” Hendery furrows his brow. “To apologize for selling him out?”

It hits Ten like acid to the face, and he steps away on reflex, chuckling hysterically. It’s the first thing Hendery has said since they got here, and now that Ten thinks about it, since they left the safehouse. Hendery averts his eyes, guilt taking over them like whiplash.

“You… You think I did it?” Ten whispers in disbelief.

“I mean, it’s the most obvious option,” Hendery murmurs almost inaudibly.

Ten feels irritation and hurt mix together in his stomach, but that may be the lack of proper nutrition. He clears his throat.

“I’m not even going to grant _that_ with an answer,” he says with a strained laugh. “Mark, get everyone settled, please.”

“I’ll take care of Hendery,” Johnny says sweetly. 

It sounds scary, but Ten knows Johnny wouldn’t hurt a fly if it wasn’t directly threatening the team, so he just nods, leaving the room again. Nobody is guarding them, which is a relief, but he still has to unlock the door with his ID, meaning they’re still tracing their movements through the building. Ten files that away and sets off in search of local holding cells, feeling something dark churn inside as he thinks about Hendery’s words.

//

A quite versatile range of legends has been surrounding TOUCH since its inception in 1947 shortly after the great Human War ended, accelerating the process of the overall human-creatures alliance. Despite TOUCH being a rather open organization — definitely less secretive than FBI or MI5, for example — people still gossip. One would argue it is due to the strict selection process applied to TOUCH Academy graduates that allows only a mere 37 percent of the alumni to enter the organization itself. People get bitter, hence they talk shit. But the real reason is quite simple — it is in human nature to gossip, and creatures haven’t strayed far from that aspect of humanity’s development. 

The legends differ in absurdity and scope. Some say that the first Headquarters ever established, in Tokyo, that is, were built from the bones and flesh of human victims of the war. Some argue that no human has ever entered their employment despite TOUCH’s vow to assess each and every applicant despite their race, age, or gender identity. Another story speaks of a peculiar tradition followed when raising all successive Headquarter and Academy buildings. It states that every HQ building _must_ reside on haunted and unholy ground and an Academy is _always_ located near a water source.

Of course, most of those legends are either complete bullshit or only barely half-true. Tokyo HQ was built out of stone and wood, there are quite a few humans inside the company and those who don’t get in simply don’t qualify, and there is no such thing as unholy ground in the diversified organization that doesn’t follow a single religious order and is rather atheistic in general. Only a portion of that one particular story is true — Academies are _almost always_ built near a water source, which is something that never had an explanation, as far as Ten is concerned. As for the HQ buildings, they do often stand on grounds that are considered haunted or dark, but that can be easily explained by low property taxes. 

Ten personally thinks that the dude who was in charge of choosing the locations just had a flair for the dramatic. Ten can relate to that, after all, but sometimes it’s annoying to walk out of work and see some tourists gape at the building hoping the ghost of Harvey Milk comes strutting out. San Francisco Headquarters are located inside (and mostly under) the building that once served as City Hall. Ten doesn’t remember the details of how it came to be owned by TOUCH, but apparently, there was a double murder in 1978 involving Harvey Milk, the first gay Supervisor to sit on San Francisco's City Council, and some douchebag homophobe who got in a brawl with him and got fired. The douchebag wasn’t amused, which is why he returned to off his boss and his rival in one evening. 

Ten thinks it’s ironic he gets to work and live in a building supposedly haunted by a gay dude. It’s fitting. He’d love to shake the hand of whoever established the HQ in San Francisco. 

Seoul HQ doesn’t have such a flaming history, but it’s still fascinating. It was originally located somewhere underground, but in 2011, they rebuilt on the territory of a closed amusement park called Yongma Land. Ten isn’t sure if someone was killed here or died by accident, but they definitely have a few ghosts up their sleeves. The building took up the space of the park and a good portion of the forest beside it, creating a sense of walking through a huge architect experiment rather than a supposedly secret organization.

Ten despises spiral staircases, the result of a brief stay at a private school that shaped the majority of his issues spectre, which is why, naturally, there are dozens of these things throughout the building. It doesn’t take him long to find out where the holding cells are thanks to the helpful map he finds outside the apartment complex, but he still spends ten more minutes locating it than he would if accompanied by a guide.

It strikes him as he walks down how desolate the place looks. It’s eight a.m. on a Monday, and he would expect a swarm of agents passing him, but he meets a dozen people at most while it takes him to cross the building. It’s strange. Surely, not everybody is in the field? As far as he knows, HQ employs around six hundred agents, hence its size. Peculiar.

It’s a beautiful and bright morning, and he allows himself to enjoy a rather apocalyptic landscape with its abandoned carnivals and ferris wheels. It reminds him somewhat of Pripyat, and he feels a pang of nostalgia before he has to descend into the underground facilities and get swallowed up by artificial lights and long grey corridors. Here, the crawling feeling of someone watching him intensifies and physically sticks to the back of his neck. He’s not a stranger to having cameras everywhere he goes, but there is an unsettling premonition at the back of his mind that says someone is following his movements specifically. Namjoon, probably. Ten didn’t buy his friendly demeanor for a second, and he would be a fool to. It’s working out too perfectly to be true, and Ten can’t shake off the feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

There’s music. Ten almost stops in his tracks when he first hears faint whispers of a melody down the corridor, but his curiosity pushes him forward. It’s not the standard elevator tune, too, but a song he comes to recognize as something from _Depeche Mode_. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he mutters to himself as he turns the corner and sees a thick plastic wall separating the corridor and the jail. 

He uses his pass to enter, and as soon as he opens the door, the song spills out completely, so loud it hits his senses with a vibrating thump. Something’s telling him he knows who’s listening to it. 

Lo and behold — when he passes three empty cells, all encased in the same thick plastic, he comes face to face with the star of his weekend, lounging calmly on his bunk, his feet on the wall. 

It doesn’t take him long to notice Ten, and he sits up, pushing a button near the headrest, cutting the music off. 

“Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” Ten drawls, pursing his lips at Taeyong’s relaxed demeanor. 

Taeyong shrugs and spreads his arms. “Don’t have anything else to do, do I?”

He looks awfully calm. As if his super important plans haven’t just gone to shit. As if he’s exactly where he wants to be. It doesn’t sit right with Ten. 

“How’s it there on the outside?” Taeyong asks, tilting his head funnily, like he’s hoping to actually hear the conversations behind dozens of walls and corridors. “Namjoon said my interrogation is scheduled for this evening.”

“How do you know him?” Ten wonders with a frown. 

Taeyong rubs his neck, his eyebrows flying up. “We’ve worked a case together once. I’ve been around for a long time, I know half of the current agents and the majority of retired ones.”

“It’s funny you and I never met before,” Ten hums. 

Taeyong snorts all of a sudden, as if Ten just told the most amusing joke. “That’s more than funny, trust me. That’s outright hilarious. The Universe is having a field day with this one.”

There’s something irritatingly peculiar about the way he’s holding himself. Ten can’t really put his finger on it, but Taeyong seems more relaxed and humorous here than he was during the entire weekend. Ten wrote him being tense off to the simple fact there was a bounty on his head, but now that he’s actually captured, he’s calmed down. In fact, a layer of stress had peeled off of him the second he saw Namjoon coming in to arrest him. 

It reminds him of something and he drums his knuckles on the plastic case, playing with the air holes as he summons the memory. 

“You called me Chai,” he says evenly. “When we were raided.”

All the humor leaves Taeyong’s face in a rolling wave, and he clears his throat, sitting up straighter. “A slip of the tongue.”

“Rather weird one.”

“You remind me of someone I used to know who went by that name,” Taeyong says.

“You had a falling out?” Ten wonders, biting his lip. He doesn’t know why he’s curious. 

Taeyong chuckles sadly and meets Ten’s eyes, deep sorrow in his own that only appears in the eyes of those who’ve lived enough to know the exact price of immortality. 

“He turned out to be the polar opposite of the perception I had of him,” Taeyong explains. 

Ten hums, but doesn’t press. He can be an asshole, but it’s clear the topic is a touchy one. And it’s not like Ten doesn’t know what it’s like to be head over heels with someone who turns out to be not who you thought they were. In that there were romantic feelings involved there, Ten doesn’t have a doubt. It’s in Taeyong’s eyes.

“Well, it’s dangerous to assume things about people,” he sums up, closing the topic before Taeyong can get even more upset. “I’ve actually come here to tell you Xiaojun is in the infirmary.”

Taeyong glances at the camera in the corner so quickly Ten would miss it if he wasn’t looking directly at him. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly, and there, under the strain he puts on his voice to sound neutral, Ten senses what he’s really feeling. He’s scared shitless. “What about the others?”

“Safe and resting,” Ten reports. 

It’s the dilemma he keeps running into with Taeyong. They’re supposed enemies, and even if Ten agreed to help him at first, they’re not friends. But, Ten still feels some sort of obligation to him as another leader who treats his team like family. Ten would want to know how the nighties were doing if he was in Taeyong’s place. 

A week ago, Ten would say he wouldn’t end up in this situation in the first place, but he came really close to it a few hours ago, so. Preaching to the choir and all that shit. 

Taeyong nods to himself a few times, worrying his hands in his palms. “They’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

Ten’s eyebrows fly up as he snorts rather cruelly. “Do I need to remind you how deep in shit you currently are?”

“You know,” Taeyong breathes out, squinting his eyes, “I miss the times I liked you.”

“That existed?”

“Yeah, for like fifteen minutes.”

Ten rolls his eyes at the smug grin Taeyong’s sporting and holds back the urge to flip him the bird. “Ha-ha. Enjoy your incarceration.”

“Thanks!” Taeyong smiles widely. “I’m loving this bunk. Keeps my spine in shape.”

It almost makes him laugh, and he hates it. It’s becoming too easy to get distracted with Taeyong, so he ruffles his hair to clear his thoughts and tries to phrase his next question in a way that won’t look suspicious to whoever’s looking. And he’s extremely positive someone is, glued to the surveillance screens and waiting for him to slip up. Namjoon, probably. Damn, he really rubbed Ten the wrong way. 

“What comes next, Taeyong?” Ten asks quietly, leaning on the wall, watching the fairy closely. 

Taeyong bites his lip, his eyes pinning Ten down. It’s his fucking eyes that keep doing it. There’s something urgent in them, something that spurs to action and beckons Ten to follow his bullshit. His memory spirals back to their first meeting on the roof, Taeyong’s eyes flashing with gold. 

_It doesn’t matter,_ he said then. What didn’t matter? Does it matter now?

“We wait for my interrogation,” Taeyong says pointedly. “Until then, I’m staying put.”

Ten catches the subtle message in there. _We_ are staying put. Ten still hasn’t decided if he’s still helping Taeyong, but it seems that Taeyong has an action plan all ready in case Ten is still sticking with him. 

The most unsettling thing is that at one point or another, Ten will have to stop justifying his hesitation to help Anteros with his team’s safety. The ugly truth is that, even if it was just him, he would still think twice before helping Taeyong. The days when he could dive headfirst into some adventure that promised good results in one out of four cases have long passed. Ten got soft, spending a decade to perfect and sharpen his skills, mind, and discipline, becoming a perfect and obedient little soldier, and while his teenage self would spit in his face for that, he was fucking okay with it until three days ago. 

Then, Taeyong had to appear and make Ten doubt everything about himself. That motherfucker. 

“I’ll see you there, then,” he says quietly, pushing away from the wall and turning back to the exit. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised you betrayed me, I guess,” Taeyong throws after him, effectively making Ten’s limbs freeze up. 

That seems such a popular theory today, huh. 

“That would imply I was on your side in the first place,” Ten drawls, his gaze lost in the sharp brightness of the empty corridor ahead of him. “I’m loyal to TOUCH.”

“But why?”

Ten doesn’t answer that. It’s enough that he’d been asking himself this question for hours while sitting in that interrogation room. He clears his throat and leaves, controlling his pace not to speed up, even if he wants to run away from here. Run away from _him_. 

The music resumes as he closes the door behind him, and Ten catches a few words before it’s cut off and turned into a dull echo. 

_vows are spoken to be broken._

4

**December 17, 1996, 3:37**

_West Fargo, North Dakota, United States_

The candle trembles in Jaehyun’s hand as the wax melts down onto his other arm in a hypnotizing drip-drop-drop pattern. It doesn’t hurt, not really, not when his body is riding on the feeding he just had. His skin is almost glowing from the power, but his soul is another tale. It’s bleeding somewhere at the edge of his consciousness, but he blocks it out, not ready to face it. To face what he’s done.

It’s dark in the room save for the flashlights the agents are using. Someone finally finds a light switch, and Jaehyun flinches against the sharp blindness of illumination. The room is clearer now, crimson drapes wrapped around every window and door. He knows the layout vaguely from noting it when he was brought here. A dressing table with a covered mirror, a few chairs and a journal table, and a bed. Big and comfortable, he reckons, but he didn’t really focus on its qualities while he was in there.

Someone carefully takes the black candle away from him, and he lets them, his hand falling limply by his side. The carpet is soft under his fingers, and he buries his hands in it, feeling its gentle touch to his naked thighs.

“Mister Jung?” 

It isn’t his name. It’s his mother’s. Her face manifests before his mind’s eye, jolting him out of his stupor at least a little. He looks up at the agent, noting his bright eyes before anything else. Something stirs inside, craving to enchant those eyes and welcome them into his embrace, but he still has enough self-control to pull it back and shut it deep inside where it belongs.

“Yes?”

He would expect his voice to be broken and hoarse, but the sound that falls from his lips echoes through the room in a crystal melodious falsetto. It’s the feeding. He despises it.

The agent notes it and grits his jaw and signals for someone outside Jaehyun’s line of vision. A woman appears then, kneeling beside him with a kind smile that seems predatory for a fraction of a moment. The power inside of him tries to lash out at her, which provides him with a sharp insight — she’s a succubus. A kindred spirit that feels like an enemy to his battered incubus centre.

As soon as it breaks through his mind that she isn’t here to take away his prey but to _help_ , he makes a whining sound, grasping for her hand.

“I didn’t mean to,” he sobs out, and she _gets it_ , her eyes filling with tears as she clutches his fingers in hers.

Someone puts a blanket over him, but it doesn’t really affect his temperature. It’s for the sake of the others, probably.

“This is a clear case of abuse and magical coercion,” the woman says, throwing a glance at the bed. “You are not guilty.”

Jaehyun fights his urge to look, but it’s too irresistible, and so with an excruciatingly slow turn of his head, he faces what he’s done.

The body is already stiff, but it’s still painfully obvious what was the cause of death. His veins stand out on his skin like black vines, tracing the path of his bloodstream, the anaesthetic of Jaehyun’s body poisoning him even now. His mouth is forever frozen in what might seem like a silent scream, but that was just a way for the oxytocin released by his hypothalamus to transfer to Jaehyun’s mouth. It’s in his blood now, coursing like a reviving potion, filling him with strength and energy that no suppressants can provide.

The amulet on his chest isn’t glowing anymore, but Jaehyun still feels its faint pull. The woman notices it and stands up to carefully take if off the corpse, her gloved hands shaking a little as she files it away as evidence. Pure disgust is written all over her face, and tears sting Jaehyun’s eyes as he realizes _he_ is the one she should be looking at like that.

“Hey.” The first agent crouches before him, a sympathetic look on his young face. “Can you tell us exactly what happened?”

“ _Vernon_ ,” the woman reprimands, but the guy just flinches regretfully.

“We both know that in the cases of rape, the fresher the account of the victim, the better the results of the investigation,” he says carefully.

Jaehyun tilts his head, confused. 

“You can’t really question the victim, can you?” He murmurs. “He’s dead.”

Vernon opens his mouth to say something, but the door opens to let the forensic team inside. Jaehyun tugs at the cover in distress, crawling even further into the corner, afraid of his body’s reaction to new meat. He can’t even begin building his defences back up, their ashes resting in the sour taste on his tongue.

“Irene,” Vernon calls for his partner, nodding toward Jaehyun and straightening up to direct the team.

The woman comes back to Jaehyun’s side, sitting down before him to cover him from view. He focuses on her eyes to drown everything else out.

“Darling,” she starts, her voice taking on that gentle tone that only creatures of one race can recognize in each other. It calms him down a little, dulling his senses as he lets himself be lulled by her presence. “The case is clear, but Vernon is right. We need your account of what happened.”

He tries to work through the haze of feeding on a real person and recall the first time he saw his captor.

“I work at a bookshop two blocks down from here,” he starts, measuring his words. “I first noticed him a week ago. He came in but never bought anything. Didn’t even talk to me. I think he was stalking me for much longer, but couldn’t work up the courage to approach me.”

Irene carefully pulls out a notebook and starts jotting it down, never once looking away from him, holding the eye contact that is probably the only thing holding Jaehyun together.

“Did he try to approach you after the first encounter?”

“No.” He shakes his head, damp hair tickling his temples. “I didn’t see him again after the first visit. The next time I saw him was yesterday evening. I was closing late, and then I felt… _the pull_.”

He searches Irene’s eyes for understanding and sees them darken as she gets his meaning. It isn’t something he would be able to describe to a human. He reckons vampires and werewolves have their own equivalent of that, and other creatures with compulsive natures too, but there is still an individual undertone to the pull incubi and succubi feel when they are locked on a target.

Only Jaehyun didn’t imprint on him. He spent the better part of his life learning not to. 

“The next thing I know, we’re here, and I’m on top of him, and…” He breaks off, his throat constricting, but not with emotion, no, with _thirst_.

Irene puts her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Take your time.”

“I couldn’t stop,” Jaehyun croaks out. “I wanted to, but something prevented the human part of me from breaking free and taking control.”

“This place is full of summoning items,” Irene explains. Jaehyun sees the forensics behind her bag it all away. “Not to mention the amulet he was wearing.”

She pulls on her necklace and frees it from under the shirt, and Jaehyun recognizes the pattern on the metal.

“He has the same,” he whispers. “Had.”

“It’s protecting me from being summoned,” Irene says. “But when used against one of our kind, it works as a magnet. Only a really experienced incubus would be able to fight it.”

 _It’s not your fault,_ Jaehyun hears between her words, but she’s wrong. It is. He should’ve been more careful. He should’ve protected the others from himself. 

“Put me in jail,” he whispers, his lips trembling. 

“Jaehyun,” Irene says pointedly, her hand hovering over his neck, afraid to touch. “You can walk. You _will_ walk. Any sensible jury will see what happened here.”

“When was the last time one of us was found not guilty?” He asks, dark humor coming over his mind, the statistics flaring up from memory. “He was a human. I will be tried by humans.”

Irene goes to contradict but stops, groaning softly as she looks for the right words, her lips pursed. 

“TOUCH always sits in,” she says slowly. “And you will be provided a non-human lawyer. We will protect you.”

Something moves at the edge of his vision, and he looks past Irene at the bed. Two medical examiners step away as paramedics bag the body to move it outside. They’re almost done now, but someone accidentally kicks the gurney, and the corpse’s hand falls out from the unzipped gap. His nails are black, the natural anesthetic of Jaehyun’s body staying inside his victim even after death. 

He remembers a passage from the book he read in his fruitless attempts to completely rid himself of any ‘symptoms’ of being who he is. It was a long time ago when he was just a teenager scared shirtless of his urges and the glares he earned from adults. His mother didn’t care about them, proudly walking around with her adoptive son, but she was human, and no matter how compassionate and kind she was, she could never fully understand it. 

The book explained the physiology of the incubi, expanding on what exactly happens when they imprint on someone. Humans think it’s a simple case of released pheromones, but it’s so much more than that. It’s not enough to just enchant the victim into submission and have sex with them until you’re fed. When an incubus is being careful, he just takes a minimum amount of oxytocin he needs to keep his body, forever hungry for it, alive and functional. Some creatures like elves or shapeshifters can take it pretty easily, even giving more than needed and still staying in shape, but humans are so fundamentally _weak_ that they can barely take a feeding without losing their shit. So the evolution provided a helping hand — knock them out before they can feel their brains melting and resist. 

Mercury. Stored in a gland that inflames when a potential victim is nearby. A simple kiss — and bang bang, baby, you’re toast, paralyzed by my killer lips. 

“You’re innocent,” Irene says, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

He looks at her kind understanding face and feels far away. He thinks about Taeyong. 

“I don't feel innocent, agent,” he whispers. 

It’s cold. Despite his body riding the hormones of his victim and not feeling the influence of the outside world, Jaehyun finds himself extremely fucking cold. 

4

**May 20, 2019, 14:15**

_Seoul, South Korea_

_TOUCH HQ_

Sleep refuses to come even after five hours of Ten tossing and turning. He’s either too hot or too cold, or his skin is itching, or the sun is too bright even through the curtains. But the most annoying distraction is, reasonably, the swirl of thoughts that refuse to settle.

He gives up around midday, kicking the covers like an angry child and stomping past the bundle of blankets that make up a sleeping Johnny on the next bed and into the shower. The apartment has one bathroom, so it’s not exactly unexpected to bump into someone there, but he still finds himself shocked when he sees Mark coming out into the living room, his hair soaking wet.

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” He wonders and looks at the water dripping from Mark’s head. “And, you know, use a towel?”

The half-dark around them only highlights the circles under Mark’s eyes. They’re almost glowing, Ten thinks, but that may just be his exhaustion playing tricks on him. 

“I fell asleep in the bathtub,” Mark sputters out, fidgeting with his t-shirt. It’s too big on him, loose around his shoulders to expose pale skin with red marks scattered on it. 

Ten stares at him, deciding where to start. 

“And got attacked by a loofa?” He says slowly, nodding at the splotches of irritated skin. 

Mark follows his gaze and hastily covers himself. Ten is positive he would blush if he had the physical ability to. 

“Probably allergies to the shampoo,” Mark mumbles, rubbing his eyebrow, his fingers shaking. “Anyway, why are you up?”

Ten squints his eyes at him but goes along with it. “Couldn’t sleep.”

It’s tense and charged in that invisible way that occurs when you’re convinced you’re missing something but can’t quite put your finger on it. Ten’s feet are glued to their place, his knees weirdly strained as he picks at his fingers, watching Mark over. 

“Anyway,” he says pointedly, snapping out of it. “I’ll go take a shower.”

Mark jerks his face his way and blinks rapidly, lips twitching. “You can’t.”

“Excuse me?” Ten jeers, hands coming up to his sides.

“I wanted to show you something,” Mark says hastily, walking up to Ten and tugging him by the wrist toward the living room couch. 

If Ten was in a better state, he would note this as strange, because Mark is not a toucher. At all. He avoids physical contact whenever he can, and Ten never stopped wondering as to the reason for that, but they all have their quirks, and if Mark is extra protective of his personal space, so be it. Which is why it’s peculiar that Mark is initiating contact for something as simple as turning Ten around and leading him to the couch. 

But Ten hasn’t slept for a day, and it’s a known fact that he’s useless when he’s tired, so he just patiently follows Mark and stands with his arms crossed. 

“You must’ve noticed how few people there are here,” Mark starts, clicking away on his tablet. “There’s a good reason for it.”

He shoves the tablet at Ten so hard it almost falls to the floor, and he catches it with some deal of irritation, glaring at Mark before looking at the screen. 

It’s a newspaper article announcing that the President of South Korea is attending a public rally in support of human-creature alliance today. From what Ten can gather, it’s a massive event that will go on for another two weeks as a so-called Alliance Festival. They have a similar thing in the US, but it’s usually held in autumn. 

“Interesting,” he hums, scrolling the article. “Coincidental as hell. But that’s probably where all the agents have gone off to. This shit requires upped security.”

He looks up at Mark, but the guy isn’t even looking at him, his eyes cast over Ten’s shoulder. Ten almost turns around to check what’s wrong, but then Mark looks back at him with a nervous smile. 

“Gotta wonder about the timing, right?” He says breathlessly. 

That’s it, Ten thinks, I’ve had enough. It’s time to admit he’s officially losing it, because he doesn’t know how else to explain Mark’s behavior. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks, locking the tablet and taking Mark’s chin, looking into his eyes. “Are you hungry?”

He seems fine. Definitely not mad with starvation. And Ten would know how that looks, he still has that time they got locked together in a basement in Belfast for a week fresh in his memory. Nothing creates a stronger bond than your left-hand man looking at you like all he’s dreaming about is devouring you and not doing it. Teambuilding!

“I’m perfect,” Mark says with a touch of irritation, pushing Ten’s hand away. “Goodnight.”

That eases Ten’s mind a little, because this is more like the normal Mark. He watches him walk away and toward the windowless room with Hendery and Yangyang, and thinks about some of the annoying things that were keeping him awake. He wants to discuss them with someone, but Johnny is sleeping, and maybe, Ten shouldn’t even voice them aloud because it’s too early to conclude something, and it’s driving him crazy. It’s not even the department business, no, it’s something deeper, something personal, and Ten has never been good with talking about that shit. 

“Hey, Mark?” He calls out, biting his thumb. 

“Yeah?”

“We’re friends, right?” 

Mark’s mouth twitches in a sad smile as he studies Ten’s face, one hand on the door handle. He looks away slowly, his gaze stopping on the bathroom door for a moment before he looks at his feet, eyebrows knitted together. 

“I would stand in the line of fire for you, Ten,” he decrees finally, disappearing inside the room without waiting for an answer. 

Ten studies the closed door, the chipped paint in the left corner of the wood falling away as Mark firmly shuts it, and thinks that Mark didn’t really answer his question. 

///

Sicheng finds Ten in the training room that Ten discovered after even a prolonged bath couldn’t ease his mind and he went off exploring the department. 

(He has to give it to Mark, that bathtub was huge and weirdly comfortable to lie in, so it’s understandable he fell asleep in there. What’s weird, though, is how he didn’t drown, because they’re roughly the same size and the water covered Ten by at least a foot when he relaxed and went under. Are vampires _that_ floaty? Johnny would have a field day with that joke.)

He’s having a rest after venting his annoyance with one Kim Namjoon to the punching bag, so that is why Sicheng walks in on him sprawled on the mat with his legs spread and his chest heaving. 

“My job would be easier if all my targets were waiting for me like that,” he comments, standing over Ten with his arms crossed. “You got time to talk?”

Ten assesses him upside down and stands up with a sigh, noting how Sicheng doesn’t offer him a hand. 

“We’re in strange territory,” he says, picking up the towel and wiping the sweat off his neck. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“It’s safe,” Sicheng assures him indifferently. The tone of his voice suggests he won’t elaborate on how he knows that and it’s pointless for Ten to try and find out. 

“Let’s talk, then.”

They walk over to the benches, and Ten takes the time it takes them to cross the gym to reflect on his initial interest in Dong Sicheng. He was the only dark horse in the midst of the Anteros, and Ten even tried prying some info about ways to defeat him from Yuta. Speaking of that guy, he hasn’t contacted Ten since his cryptic message, and isn’t that a joy? 

He’s known Sicheng for almost two days now, and a lot of shit has happened during that time, but he’s still none the wiser about the dude or his race in general. The only expressive feature he’s noted is a surprisingly short fuse coupled with a sarcastic vocabulary so wide it could give Mark a run for his money. 

“We need to leave this place,” Sicheng dumps on him as soon as they’re seated. “Time is running out.”

“Slow down.” Ten rubs his forehead. “If you haven’t noticed, Taeyong is locked up, and TOUCH has intricate and unbreakable security.”

Sicheng stares him down before sneering in a way that makes Ten’s hands break out in goosebumps. 

“I broke out of the Tilanqiao Prison four times in two years,” he informs Ten. “Just for fun. Because I could. Because this system is shit at holding people who don’t actually want to be there.”

Ten feels blood freeze in his veins, scared against his wishes. He’s heard stories about that particular Shanghai prison. It’s said to hold the most dangerous prisoners TOUCH has ever put away. Alcatraz, reinstated in 1973 as an exclusively TOUCH prison, is probably the only one that comes even close to the security level of the Tilanqiao.

“So you’re badass,” Ten drawls, getting a hold on himself. “Big deal. I know a woman who served a year in solitary in Alcatraz.”

“Oh, so she must know Jaehyun,” Sicheng says nonchalantly. “Cool stuff.”

They look at each other for a few seconds, a little recess in the dick-measuring contest, as Bogdana would put it. Eventually, Sicheng scoffs. 

“Anyway,” he says pointedly, playing with a spiral-shaped amulet on his neck. “We don't have much time. I overheard that they’re putting Taeyong’s interrogation off until Wednesday, and even then it will just be a preliminary questioning. They’re waiting for someone else to bring him to the stand.”

“But Namjoon is on the High Council.” Ten frowns, his mind whirring. “Isn’t he already big enough to act as an accuser?”

“Gee, you’re so smart,” Sicheng drawls sarcastically. “No wonder we got caught within a day of joining you.”

“Listen, you either stop insulting me, or we go our separate ways and deal with our problems on our own.”

“Boo-hoo, you whore.”

“Okay, have a good day,” Ten snaps, standing up. Sicheng shoots his hand forward, grabbing the part of Ten’s arm covered by the wrist brace. 

“Wait, shit, sorry, I’ll stop,” he promises impatiently, forcibly making Ten sit back down. “I need your opinion on this, unfortunately.”

Ten purses his lips and sniffs, watching over his face. He doesn’t look tired like the rest of them, but rather annoyed. But then again, he hasn’t seen Sicheng _not_ in a varying state of annoyance, so he doesn’t really have a frame of reference. 

“They don't even have a case against Tae,” Sicheng almost seethes. “Deserting? Even _you_ know that’s a bullshit excuse. To settle that, they don’t need specially recalled High Council members and a whole team of _Americans_.”

Ten feels an urge to correct him, because even if they’re working in the US and some of them are actual citizens, there’s no need to sound so insulting. They all come from the same part of the world as Sicheng, just under different circumstances. 

“That’s what seemed weird to me from the beginning, too,” he notes, deciding to go along with Sicheng’s manner of speaking for now. “Why summon us from another continent for a routine arrest? There are dozens of agents and teams with the same qualifications much closer than San Francisco. Shit, even Namjoon would do.”

Sicheng jerks his head weirdly, squinting his eyes at Ten, his tongue peeking out a bit. “You don’t like him?”

“Do you?” Ten asks incredulously. “He arrested all of you.”

“Out of this entire building, Namjoon is probably the only one who has our safety and best interest at heart,” Sicheng says, tugging at his necklace.

“You’re a weird one,” Ten drawls, and only realizes his mistake when Sicheng’s eyes flash with orange as he bares his teeth, fox-like fangs peeking out.

“You don’t know shit, Ten.”

“Maybe, I don't want to know,” Ten says, unfazed by his appearance, even if it makes him tense. “Less incrimination that way.”

“You’re better off hiding back at home,” Sicheng seethes, leaning closer. “So either wake up and see the truth or fuck off to where you came from, or so help me gods….”

“ _Sicheng_.”

The effect is instantaneous. Sicheng recoils from him, his features coming back to resemble human ones, and he stands up from the bench jerkily, turning around to face Jaehyun in the entrance. 

“You talk to him,” he spits out, storming past Jaehyun. “Taeyong is wrong about him, I’m telling you. He only looks out for himself.”

“Taeyong is never wrong,” Jaehyun murmurs, but Sicheng is long gone. 

Ten stays where he is, gripping his thighs, Sicheng’s words ringing in his ears. _He only looks out for himself_. Did that make Ten mad because Sicheng is making assumptions about him without really knowing him, or because he might be right?

“I have to apologize for him,” Jaehyun says, coming closer at a slow pace. 

There’s a certain gentleness and soft aura about him that makes Ten enthralled for a moment before his vision clears. It’s probably not even about him being an incubus, Ten thinks as Jaehyun sits down, neatly setting his arms in his lap. It’s his human trait. You look at his kind eyes and find yourself wanting to trust him. 

“Sicheng is mistrustful, and for good reason,” Jaehyun explains. “But Taeyong has assured us we need to confide in you, and I admire Sicheng for making an effort of treating you as an equal.”

“If that’s him making an effort, I’m excited to see what he’s like when he’s not doing it,” Ten chuckles, wrinkling his nose. 

Jaehyun laughs curtly, covering his mouth. “He’s getting there.”

“Yeah, but…” Ten frowns, trying to pick the best wording. “He doesn’t really need to, does he? As soon as this whole thing is over, we’re leaving and never seeing each other again.”

Jaehyun regards him thoughtfully. “Yes. But when do you think it will be over?”

Ten finds that he cannot give an answer to that. They’re still in the hung-up state of not knowing what comes next, and if Sicheng is right, they’re going to be stuck here at least until the end of the week. 

“I know one thing,” Jaehyun says. “If Taeyong told us to stick with you, he had good reasons to believe that we’re not saying goodbye to each other for now.”

They seem to have an awful lot of faith and conviction in Taeyong. Ten has trouble understanding it, because he’s felt nothing but suspicion since he met the guy. Perhaps that is because they’re on opposite sides of the board, but Ten has a gut feeling there is more to it than that. Taeyong is hiding something major, some incredibly important ace up his sleeve, and Ten isn’t sure he wants to find out what that is. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” he says slowly. “But I wish I never met you guys.”

Jaehyun laughs in a short burst, his dimples complementing his already lovely face, and Ten remembers Sicheng’s words. Has he really been to Alcatraz? 

What does it say about Taeyong if two of his team members (that Ten knows of) are ex-cons? If you lie with dogs, you get up with fleas, isn’t it how that goes?

“You should try putting yourself in our shoes,” Jaehyun says with a smirk. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. Even if it means siding with the likes of you.”

“I honestly don’t know if that’s an insult or a compliment,” Ten murmurs. “But in any case, I don’t know how I can help you. My hands are tied, and I have no idea why Sicheng thinks I can somehow be of any use.”

“Taeil seems adamant on having you in the room when Taeyong is interrogated,” Jaehyun informs him casually. “And he’s our second in command, so I think he has good reasons.”

“What about you?” 

Jaehyun chuckles, licking his lips. “Taeyong says I should trust you.”

“Do you always do what Taeyong says?” Ten asks with a frown. 

“I owe him everything I have,” Jaehyun says with a shrug. “And he’s never been wrong about anything.”

Ten feels… Irritated, that’s the one. Jaehyun didn’t really answer his question, and something tells Ten he won’t. Something tells him Jaehyun doesn’t even register that Ten is one of the characters in this play. Anteros seem to have everything figured out, and he’s yet to see one of them freaking out about being caught, and it just bugs Ten to no end. How can they be so calm? 

“Is it me, or has everybody forgotten about the initial purpose of Taeyong deserting?” He says, changing the topic to something that’s been on his mind since this morning. “We got into this mess because of that Wong dude, and now we’re sitting around discussing… Politics.”

Jaehyun’s face changes in an instant, sobering up as he clears his throat. “It’s the only thing we think about, trust me. Sicheng came to talk to you about this initially. We think they’re holding us here until Wong gets here to carry out the punishment personally.”

It sends jolts of electricity down Ten’s hands. His mouth dries up, and he tastes copper. “Why hasn’t he said so upfront?”

“He has issues,” Jaehyun notes. “Anyway, I figure we have a week, two tops, to haul ass before he gets here.”

Ten stares at him, nails digging into his leg. “And you want me to help?”

“Taeyong thinks we need you.”

“Do you agree with him?”

“No.” Jaehyun turns to look him straight in the eyes, his own cold and hard. “ _I_ want you to stay out of the way. And keep your team away, too.”

Here’s Ten answer, he thinks as he watches Jaehyun turn into an unapproachable statue that replaces that warm kind guy Ten was admiring just minutes ago in a blink of an eye. 

“If you’re not with us, you’re against us,” Jaehyun says as a farewell, looking down on Ten like a vengeful deity from the sky. “Remember that, Ten.”

He silently departs then, leaving Ten staring at his own knuckles and wondering how quickly they will regenerate if he beats them bloody. He certainly feels enough anger to do that with the nearby wall. 

4

**May 22, 2019, 20:54**

_Seoul, South Korea_

_TOUCH HQ_

Yangyang fidgets in his seat, throwing a nervous glance at Taeil on the other side of Xiaojun‘s hospital bed. Hendery is chatting away about everything they saw in the two days of their stay at Seoul HQ, but Taeil isn’t listening to him, instead trying to burn a hole in Yangyang’s skull with his eyes.

Xiaojun, to his name, tries to appear invested in what Hendery is saying, but Yangyang can see his eyelids drooping, his lips pressed together in a funny way when he attempts to stifle a yawn. It’s probably why Taeil is so grumpy. Xiaojun is basically his ward, and he needs his rest. Hendery has been relentless about spending all of their free time in here to keep the guy from getting bored, because they don’t have anything else to do anyway, but Taeil is obviously displeased that they’re not letting Xiaojun sleep in peace. Perhaps, he even thinks the nighties want to drive him away from Anteros, and so he’s being territorial. He creeps Yangyang out, that’s the point.

Xiaojun still doesn’t speak much, just gawking around him with those giant sparkly eyes that keep drawing Yang’s attention, but he smiles more and more each time he sees them, and that’s progress. 

Nobody knows for how long they’ll have to stay here, and Ten keeps groaning like a dying man whenever he’s asked about it, so Yang figured they might as well keep Xiaojun company and let his mind rest from constant worrying about his leader. Because he _does_ worry about Taeyong, unlike the rest of Anteros, who act like they’re here on an unexpected but not unwelcome vacation.

Xiaojun’s anxiety about Taeyong is not strange in and of itself. Yangyang is worried about Ten in the same way. It’s the whole leader-subordinate thing, probably. He even wonders if Xiaojun has more personal history with Taeyong than he lets on, because it would be weird for him to be so attached to the man he’s supposedly known for a month or so.

But what _is_ strange is that he doesn’t protest to being held at the infirmary all the time. Yangyang didn’t even know he required medical care. Xiaojun’s doctor doesn’t speak about releasing him, instead coming in twice a day to check his vitals and give him some pills. Yesterday, a nurse came in to take his blood, but she didn’t say what for no matter how much Hendery tried to get it out of her. That’s impressive, considering it’s near impossible to handle Hendery when he’s determined to get something out of you. Then Taeil arrived to intimidate the nurse into leaving Xiaojun be, and she had to flee the room without even completing her task. 

“Are you tired?” Taeil asks now, interrupting Hendery’s flow of words. “We should leave you to sleep.”

Xiaojun shakes his head violently, and Hendery beams at him, absolutely unfazed by Taeil’s rather rude interruption. At least that’s how it looks on the outside. Yangyang knows him well enough to realize that the wheel of anxious self-deprecating rant is already turning in Hendery’s head. Hendery’s anxiety is the worst kind. It never shows when he’s in public but starts raving when he’s alone, poisoning his thoughts and feelings. He may seem like a stuck-up idiot to Taeil now, but it’s all a mask he wears. It kinda makes Yangyang want to do something bad to Taeil because Hendery has enough people in his life flinching at him when he talks too loud or speaking over him. He doesn’t deserve someone who doesn’t know him passing judgment.

The only thing saving Taeil from meeting a few of his nightmares by Yangyang’s hand is the way he’s looking at Xiaojun — unabashed love and devotion. He cares about his safety and well-being, and Yangyang finds himself relating to that more and more every day. Still, if Taeil tries to shut Hendery up once again, he’ll get what he deserves. Anxious bros come before sparkled-eyed hoes in Yangyang’s book.

“We’ve been here the whole day,” Taeil presses on, his eyebrows knitted in worry. “You haven’t caught a wink of sleep.”

“ _I’m fine_ ,” Xiaojun mouths, taking Taeil’s hand and squeezing it reassuringly. 

“See, Taeil?” Hendery says pointedly. “He needs company. Imagine being trapped in this grey prison with someone poking needles into you all day.”

Taeil snorts, throwing his head back. “Boy, I don’t need to imagine.”

Xiaojun tugs at his hand to make him look down, and Taeil meets his eyes tiredly. Jun makes an angry face at him, shaking his head a little. Taeil scoffs. 

“Fine, I’ll shut up,” he mumbles with a twist of his mouth.

“Maybe, _you_ should tell a story now,” Hendery proposes. “I feel like I’ve been talking the whole time.”

Taeil squints his eyes at him, like he’s contemplating pointing out that it was indeed like that, but catches Xiaojun’s look and thinks better of it. 

“I don’t really know what to tell,” he says with an awkward shrug. “All my stories are more fitting to scare children with.”

“I’m a mare,” Yangyang speaks up lowly, smirking at him. “And Hendery is the stuff of nightmares. I think we can handle it.”

Taeil huffs, looking around them unsurely, and in that moment, they do look like a bunch of children gathered around a bonfire waiting for their camp counselor to start telling scary stories. Yang has never been to camp, but he’s read books, and the looks on their faces mirror those he always imagined on kids’ faces. 

“Right.” Taeil sighs, rubbing his neck. “Are you more interested in war stories or prison ones?”

Hendery gapes at him, his eyes wide like saucers. “You fought in a war?”

“And went to prison?” Yangyang finishes, a little- Okay, a _lot_ impressed. 

Taeil smiles shyly at them, tugging at the sharpened end of his ear, looking away. “Yeah. Two wars. One prison.”

“That’s so awesome,” Hendery whispers reverently. “What were you in for?”

“ _Hendery,_ ” Yangyang reprimands him, but Taeil just chuckles.

“It’s okay,” he assures and licks his lips. “I committed a war crime. Are you familiar with the expression ‘no quarter given’?”

“It’s when a victor in a war declares that no enemy will be taken hostage,” Yangyang recites from memory, goosebumps breaking out on his arms. “Meaning that the victor kills all the enemies when they surrender.”

Taeil nods approvingly and looks over their faces as it sinks in.

“Humans exterminated my entire clan,” he says with an unnerving smile. “But they couldn’t kill me. When they saw that they couldn’t take me down, they surrendered. And I returned the favor.”

In the following silence, Yangyang becomes painfully aware of the dripping sound of Xioajun’s IV. Taeil’s face seems neutral, that calm smile still in place, but his eyes are cold and hard, staring into the distance as the memories pass through his mind.

“It was in 1939,” he says huskily. “The War had just started, and nobody really set down any rules. It was every man for himself, every creature for itself. That’s what they saw us as back then. _It._ ”

Hendery silently moves his hand toward him, and Yangyang takes it without hesitation, interlacing their fingers and holding them against his thigh. Hendery’s palm is cold but sweaty as he clings to Yangyang for dear life.

“Anyway,” Taeil breathes out, straightening his shoulders. “I didn’t really have anything to fight for anymore. My entire family was dead, everyone I’ve ever known laid in the ground, but nobody cared apart from me. As I thought. One of the humans managed to escape in the hassle, and before I could even bury everyone from the clan, they came to take me away.”

Taeil takes Xiaojun’s hand, smiling at the boy who doesn’t look as scared as Hendery. 

“I spent seven years in the Fuchu Prison in Tokyo,” Taeil continues, and there is something so unerringly about his calm voice that Yangyang shivers. “It was a mixed prison during the War, and the doctors there were really determined to find out how a single elf managed to annihilate an entire squadron. I was poked and probed and tested on for years in their futile attempts to learn what makes me tick.”

“Did they ever find out?” Hendery asks hoarsely. His eyes widen right after as if he didn’t expect himself to be able to say anything.

“No.” Taeil shakes his head, his lips pursed. “Because there was nothing to find out. I’m an elf, and I spent the better part of my adolescent years fighting in another war. It’s in my blood, but no matter how much of it they took, they could never replicate it.”

The fear Taeil’s story instills in Yangyang breaks his defences down for a fraction of a moment, but it’s enough for him to see a glimpse of Taeil’s most terrible memories, and it suddenly takes up all the space in his mind. He sees Taeil in ancient battle uniform with mesmerizingly inscripted armor, his sword raised high with blood dripping from it, some of it falling on his face and painting his lips, open in a war-cry, with crimson. It’s terrifying but so hauntingly beautiful that it will go on to follow his dreams for weeks after.

“And then TOUCH was created,” Taeil chirps up, smiling even wider. “A few years in, all the prisoners associated with human-creature crimes became their jurisdiction. They started opening prisons exclusively for them — or well, _us_ — and I was transferred to the Tilanqiao Prison in Shanghai.”

Xiaojun’s face suddenly breaks out in a smile, and he puts his hands to his hair, mimicking animal ears. Taeil laughs and nods.

“Yep, that’s where I met Sicheng when he got there in ‘98,” Taeil says with a breathless chuckle. 

Yangyang thinks about the white-tailed huli jing on the windowsill of the apartment they staked out when this whole mess started. He seemed fearless to a point it was suicidal. 

“Gods, he was a menace. He still is, but back then it was hilarious and _fascinating_ to watch.”

Taeil turns to Yangyang and Hendery, his face more happy and excited than they’ve seen it be in days. He seems not to care they both look scared shitless, continuing with his tale.

“The first thing I said to him was to settle down and not make any trouble, because there was no way out of there,” Taeil narrates, his voice high as if he’s sharing a funny anecdote about his friend doing something stupid at a party. “That was a _mistake_. Sicheng is extremely competitive, but I didn’t know that back then, so a week later, I was woken up in the middle of the night because the alarm was blaring. Turns out, Sicheng escaped. They searched for him day and night, but there was no trace, nor were they able to find out how he did it.”

“How did they catch him in the end?” Yangyang wonders, because they obviously had to.

Taeil smirks devilishly, taking a pause before the punchline. “ _They didn’t._ He came back himself a week later with soft pretzels for the inmates and a list of tips for the warden on updating their security.”

Hendery emits a squealing sound, jumping up in his seat, and Yangyang can practically hear Sicheng’s name going up in the list of Hendery’s heroes in his mind. He just hopes Sicheng wasn’t able to bump Ten from the first spot, because that would be a bummer for everyone involved.

“He did that trick a few times in our stay there,” Taeil recounts. “After a while, inmates started giving him requests for something to bring from the outside. He even ran the contraband ring for a month because he had many contacts on the outside, but then he got bored.”

“ _You_ won’t get bored if you keep spilling Sicheng’s secrets to everyone,” sounds from the door so unexpectedly that Hendery almost falls off his chair.

Taeil looks over their shoulders, and his playful smile turns happy as he sees Jaehyun coming out from the shadows. “They asked for a story.”

“Sicheng sounds so badass,” Hendery says breathlessly, his eyes sparkling.

“Taeil, t-too,” Xiaojun whispers with strain, pleading eyes turned to Jaehyun.

But Jaehyun doesn’t seem mad. Tired, maybe, his eyes bloodshot, but overall never losing that calm aura he always has about him. 

“He is,” he confirms, walking around the bed and touching Taeil’s shoulder. “And I need his assistance with something.”

Something peculiar happens then. Xiaojun jerkily looks away from them, his cheeks blushed in a mere second, and Taeil’s smile falls away from his face to be replaced with a frown. He throws a glance at Xiaojun before standing up.

“I’ll have to bid my goodbyes, then,” he says with a nod. “Hope I didn’t bore you kids too much.”

“You might be one of the coolest people I have ever met,” Hendery announces, dead serious, his face reminding Yangyang of religious paintings with worshippers looking up at their gods. “I would _love_ to hear more about your life.”

Taeil huffs in surprise, suddenly shy, a giddy smile taking away the last of the coldness he’s been sporting when talking to them. “Thanks, I guess,” he murmurs. “I’ll see you around, boys. Goodnight, Jun.”

He gives Xiaojun a forehead kiss and waves at Hendery, even going as far as slapping Yangyang’s shoulder when he passes him on their way out.

“ _He likes you,_ ” Xiaojun writes on his pad with a dimpled smile. 

Yangyang ruffles Hendery’s hair. “It’s impossible to resist Hendery’s charms.”

“ _Yours, too. Taeil likes people who know when to stay silent._ ”

“I’ll make sure to be just that every time I see him,” Yangyang drawls, chills coming down his spine as he remembers Taeil’s story. “I’m not sure how many years he spent in prison, but they definitely accumulate to a long time. He’s scary.”

He looks up from his hands and sees Xiaojun look at him calmly, the bedside lamp casting a sickly yellow glow on his face. He looks sleepy, his lips parted slightly, but his eyes stay sharp as he judges Yangyang’s character with them. Yang wishes he would talk. Not just scattered hushed phrases, but something more substantial, just so Yangyang could figure him out by the tone of his voice. He’s going to go mad if he has to look at those eyes for any longer, wondering what’s going on behind them. Xiaojun doesn’t like to speak about Taeyong, but whenever he does, he mentions the leader’s name with a calm certainty of someone who knows exactly what’s going on. It’s unsettling. 

“Ten asked about you, by the way,” Hendery chimes in. “He wondered if it would be okay for him to come around.”

Xiaojun nods, turning his gaze to him and smiling. He gestures to the exit with his head and raises his eyebrows. 

“Oh, Ten is fine,” Hendery assures him. “He’s mighty pissed that they’re keeping him in the dark and Taeyong’s interrogation keeps getting delayed. I heard they postponed till Saturday.”

“ _That’s three days away_.”

“Yeah, that’s why Ten is mad. He doesn’t understand why they have to wait for someone to get the ball rolling.”

Xiaojun obediently nods as he takes the information in, but there’s something that doesn’t sit right with Yangyang. 

“Why aren’t you afraid?” He murmurs, scanning Jun’s face. 

The boy doesn’t answer but meets Yangyang’s eyes, holding the contact as he decides on his answer. The part of him that’s hidden by the shadow seems for a moment to mock Yangyang, his lips curling up in a subtle smile as he taunts Yang to believe the lies he’s been telling. 

Are they lies?

“I tru-ust… Trust Yong,” Xioajun stutters out. His hand flies up to rub his eye. “He has a… Has a plan.”

It’s funny. It looks like he’s straining himself to speak, fighting against the block that’s preventing him from expressing himself in words, but his voice is unimaginably clear and steady even as he stutters. Fascinating. But Yangyang wanted to hear him speak, didn’t he?

He notices Hendery watching them from the corner of his eye and feels instantly guilty over shifting the conversation into the territory of his suspicion, once again. Hendery received one of the patented Johnny Talks on Monday, and ever since then, he’s been desperately avoiding talking about anything relating to their mission to ease the anxiety inside of him. Yangyang is trying to support that, help him, but it’s hard to keep his own anxieties at bay when Xiaojun looks at him from his hospital bed like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be even though it contradicts every plan of theirs. 

“Any chance we become privy to that plan?” He says, unable to resist. “Is it about escaping?”

Xiaojun chuckles and shrugs, scratching the tip of his nose, but doesn’t say anything. That’s as good of an answer that Yangyang is going to get. 

He accepts defeat and slumps his shoulders, turning to Hendery to ask him something that will set off a rant on Hendery’s part. He knows Xiaojun is watching him, but they’re done debating for today. It’s time to pretend that everything is okay and they’re here out of their own free will, and not because the world is slowly going crazy. How else can he explain the events of the past week? 

4

**September 12, 2001, 19:17**

_San Francisco, California, US_

_Alcatraz_

“Inmate 127116, to the visiting room!”

Jaehyun grits his teeth, throwing the cards on his bunk in annoyance. 

“I just started winning,” he spits out, getting up and pushing his back against the bars to let the guard cuff him. 

It’s been a shitty and gloomy morning, he thinks as he walks past the rows of cells to the visiting area, but then again, every day in the past five years has been shitty, so what does he know. 

Rain patters the windows in the hall. He fleetingly regrets getting his yard privileges taken away. It must be nice outside, nice and cold, just as he likes. Every time he’s outside in this weather, he allows himself to believe he’s still back home in West Fargo, enjoying the morning drizzle as he walks to work. 

Many things, he got used to. Waking up, going to sleep, washing, and eating when he’s told to, having a set of rules to obey, sneering at the guards when they allow their hands to wander but knowing he can’t do shit if they decide to take advantage. He learned to tolerate all that. What he didn’t, and probably will never get used to, is working because it’s the only thing here to do apart from walking around like a little fucking paper doll. He chose the library, and not because it was either that or the workshop and he’s never been much of a handyman, but because being surrounded by books helps him feel normal again. 

“So who’s visiting me today?” He asks lazily as the guards escort him out of the holding area and into the corridor leading to the visiting room. 

The guard escorting him is Stephen, and Stephen has a particular albeit shameful taste for erotic novella which Jaehyun supplies him with in plenty, which is why they’re on semi-friendly terms. It’s hard to stay respectable in prison when you refuse to join any gangs or be a snitch, but hey, Jae has his ways. He had to learn. 

“Some agent,” Stephen says conversationally, uncuffing him before opening the door to the visiting area. “Behave, Jung.”

“Sure,” he throws back over his shoulder, reluctant to even see who’s there for him. 

Irene, probably. She’s taken it upon herself to feel guilty for the jury throwing him in here, despite Jaehyun’s own insistence it’s what he deserved, and now she’s a frequent visitor, even five years later. She’s moved up in the world, he recalls. Got her own team up at the North Dakota department. Jaehyun doesn’t really understand why she goes through the trouble of traveling all the way to California, but to each her own. 

But when he enters the room, Irene isn’t there. In fact, there’s only one person sitting at the farthest table, and they’re the farthest thing from a succubus TOUCH agent you can imagine. 

“I told you not to visit,” Jaehyun says powerlessly, his feet carrying him to the table against his will. “I asked you not to.”

Taeyong ignores him, taking a step forward and hugging him so hard Jaehyun feels his lungs constricting from the overwhelming nostalgia and guilt taking over him. They’ve only met once, but they always kept in touch, even after he was arrested, and Taeyong never once missed an appointed letter day. 

“I stayed away for five years,” Taeyong says when they part, his eyes wet. “But this is important.”

Jaehyun jerks his shoulder and sits down. It’s not like he has any other choice. It’s either talking to his closest friend in the world or go back to playing Black Jack for cigarettes. And Jaehyun sucks at Black Jack. 

Taeyong looks anxious. When they first met, there was this lost look to him. He was a man who had a purpose but barely started pursuing it and didn’t even figure out his means yet. The guy Jaehyun sees now looks like he either didn’t find what he was looking for, or did, and it turned out to be a great disappointment.

“Mind if I smoke?” Jaehyun asks while Taeyong is fidgeting with his cuffs. “Meaning, can I lift a cigarette off of you?”

Taeyong looks confused for a second by the request, sizing Jaehyun’s face up with a wondering look before he pulls out a pack of Winston’s, neatly placing them at the center of the table. 

“How did you know I had them?” Taeyong wonders while Jaehyun lights up. “I wasn’t smoking when we last met.”

“You still don’t,” Jaehyun says, smiling through the smoke. “But I felt the pack in your breast pocket when we hugged.”

Taeyong snorts, covering his mouth, but then laughs fully, the tension seeping out of him as he leans back in his chair. Jaehyun takes a drag and points at Taeyong as he lets the smoke out. 

“Why are you here, Tae?”

“I’m working for TOUCH,” Taeyong supplies with a deep sigh. “Again.”

It should come as a surprise, but Jaehyun has been suspecting for a while. Taeyong never explicitly stated which job he quit back in 1995, but Jaehyun has been noting his peculiar knowledge of TOUCH operations and departments in his letters. He even boldly offered to get Jaehyun out in 1997 with full confidence of someone who knows he’ll succeed. Jaehyun declined but remembered it. 

“What made you join again?” He wonders, touching his lip with his thumb. “Have you found what you were looking for?”

Taeyong’s eyes drop to the table for a moment, and in that single flicker of his eyelashes, Jaehyun sees immense sadness. So he hasn’t. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. 

“It’s okay,” Taeyong assures him with a painful smile. “All in due time. I was needed on a case and came back after a special request. The case is closed now, but I have an idea for a new unit. Something experimental and fresh.”

Jaehyun’s eyebrows fly up as he stifles a laugh. Leave it to Taeyong to be dragged back into the job he was tired of and get an idea to tie himself up further. 

“I reckon it’s going to be successful,” Jaehyun says politely, “if you’re leading it.”

“I want to name it Anteros,” Taeyong says, avoiding his eyes. 

The god of requited love, Jaehyun’s memory supplies immediately. The avenger of unrequited one. Jaehyun gave Taeyong the book that got him interested in Greek mythology. Is this why Taeyong came here? To thank him for a recommendation?

“That’s a funny name for a task force,” Jaehyun chuckles. “Are they gonna shoot their targets with bullets of love?”

Taeyong doesn’t laugh. He meets Jaehyun’s gaze and holds it expectantly. Jaehyun almost chokes on smoke when it dawns on him. 

“You want a unit of what… Prostitutes?” He almost laughs at the absurdity of the idea. 

“No,” Taeyong responds softly. “But people trained to use seduction as the main means of gaining power over their targets.”

“You’ll need some really morally flexible folks,” Jaehyun informs him. “And they’ll have to be-”

He realizes it so suddenly it feels like an ice bucket over his head. He stares at the ashes, fallen from his cigarette on the table, and thinks about the black candle wax falling on his hand in a drip-drop-drop pattern. 

“...Irresistible,” he finishes hoarsely. “Like incubi when they put their mind to it.”

Bitter bile rises in his throat and he spits it out on the floor, not caring about hygiene. He’s not the one cleaning this up. 

Taeyong has the decency to look regretful when Jaehyun looks at him. 

“That’s why you came?” He asks. “To ask me to be one of your little whores?”

“I came to offer you another chance to get out of here,” Taeyong corrects, his face unreadable. “I’ve cleared it with the San Francisco HQ. If you agree to this, you will serve out the rest of your sentence in the team. If not, we’ll catch up, you’ll go back to your bunk, and it will be as if I was never here.”

Jaehyun sucks on his teeth, scanning his eyes. Those same old eyes that have seen too much to still be kind but somehow don’t lose their compassionate shine. He thought he had a crush on Lee Taeyong when he first met him, but his incarceration and Taeyong’s obvious feelings for someone out of his reach got in the way of that. Their letters erased any romantic feelings Jaehyun might have had for Taeyong but they could never eradicate that peculiar fascination with his character, that desire to stay by his side. 

“I guess fucking people to death is the only thing I’m good at,” Jaehyun drawls bitterly. 

“No,” Taeyong shoots out, glaring at him angrily. “You’re so much more than that.”

“But that’s why you want me on your team,” Jaehyun says with a snort. “You don’t need my book knowledge, Taeyong.”

Taeyong clicks his tongue and leans forward. “I do, actually. I need your organizational and cataloguing skills. Your perceptive and analytical mind. I need my best friend by my side when I do this.”

Jaehyun’s wrist jerks, the ashes from the cigarette falling to the floor in a slow dance. 

“Sad life you lead, Lee Taeyong,” he whispers, “if you call a convict you met once in your life your best friend.”

Taeyong’s palm sneaks over the table to hold Jaehyun’s fingers. He’s cold, Jaehyun notes. Lee Taeyong has been cold for a long, long time. 

“I call a man whose mind enthralled me through his letters my best friend,” Taeyong says heatedly. “And I want to know him better than just through his handwriting.”

The cigarette smolders as the tobacco burns out. Jaehyun blames the tears in his eyes on the smoke. He wishes it was Irene who visited him. He could take her incessant righteous anger on the system and go back to being a prisoner, but now he has a choice to walk free and never come back here again. 

Working for TOUCH, eh? His mom would cry her heart out. Her little gentle boy in the midst of soldiers. Jaehyun wonders what she’d say if she knew he was working as an agency whore. The one helping people, granted, but a whore nevertheless. Perhaps, no matter what Taeyong says, that’s really all he is good for. 

He sniffs and puts on a bright smile as he looks up. 

“So when do we start, boss?”

4

**May 25, 2019, 23:54**

_Seoul, South Korea_

_TOUCH HQ_

By the time Saturday rolls around, Ten is close to punching someone so hard they meet their maker. He thought he left his anger management issues in the past, but seeing as his team actively avoids talking to him unless absolutely necessary, those are making a long-awaited comeback. The only one still not walking on eggshells around him is Johnny, but they’ve been friends since third year in college, which is when Ten’s overachieving tendencies were at its peak, meaning that Johnny saw it all. 

The downside of that is the fact that Johnny knows when to call Ten out on his bullshit, and apparently, it’s always these days. Every time they see each other, he’s ready with another speech about Ten needing to take control of himself and stop scaring Hendery into stuttering every time they talk. 

He can’t help it. Everything is pissing him off, mainly — Kim fucking Namjoon. They’ve talked every day since the not-interrogation, and every goddamn time, Namjoon smiles at him in that irritatingly friendly manner and assures him that they’ll be able to leave for home soon. He just needs to wait for the official representatives to get here and wrap the case up. He’s got it all wrong, of course, because Ten doesn’t want the case wrapped up. That will mean that Xiaojun’s fate is in the hands of the people Taeyong was trying to hide him from, and no matter Ten’s personal allegiances, he simply can’t leave the kid to his fate. He feels _in his gut_ that nothing is as simple as it seems, and that Taeyong was right to cower from those same official representatives. 

He’s been trying to make the time of their not-confinement count by snooping around, but every movement of his is tracked. Two days ago, he tried to access the archives and had his ID blocked at the entrance. No matter what Namjoon says about Seoul hospitality, there are still some areas he isn’t letting Ten in. He also tried to get an audience with the head of the department but learned he was heading the operation at that damn festival and will only be back in the facility next Thursday. In his absence, Namjoon is in charge as the closest available High Council member. Simply spectacular. 

Anteros are still behaving like they’re taking an unplanned vacation, and to add salt to the wound, the nighties seem to be striking friendships with them left and right. Hendery and Yangyang spend all their time at the hospital wing with Xiaojun, and Johnny is regularly hanging out with Jaehyun in the botanical area, looking at cactuses or some shit. The only one holding up the antisocial agenda is Mark, gods bless his cursed soul, but in all the years of knowing him, even Ten couldn’t get under his skin, so that's that.

Ten wouldn’t mind a little cross-department bonding if it didn’t mean playing house with a literal enemy. Jaehyun’s words still play in his mind every dawn as he tries to sleep, and he can’t figure the guy out. He told Ten to stay away but is sucking up to his second in command? Is this a tactic? Does he want to win Johnny’s sympathies to use them later on? Johnny wouldn’t betray the team under any circumstances but he’s not immune to wanting a friend outside of his closed-off team. Ten can’t simply tell him not to play in Anteros’ sandbox, he’s not his father, for fuck’s sake. 

All of this passes through his mind as he walks down another damn spiral staircase leading to the holding wing. He hasn’t spoken to Taeyong since the day they came here, but at this point, he’ll take any conversation that doesn’t make him want to blow his head off. Granted, Taeyong isn’t less secretive than the rest of his team, but it’s a fresh kind of secrecy. 

He had a weird conversation with Taeil the other day which left him even more baffled than his encounter with Sicheng and Jaehyun. Taeil didn’t seem as hostile as them, but there was still a weird shade to his smile as he reminded Ten to be there for Taeyong’s interrogation. 

“You’re imperative to the case,” Taeil said simply, drilling Ten with his sharp gaze. “We need you there.”

He refused to give any further explanation and dramatically faded into a dark corridor, and Ten decided Taeil would be his best friend in another life. In this one, however, he walked away more agitated than he was. 

Ten turns the corner to the holding wing and stops in his tracks as two agents suddenly emerge from the plastic door separating the corridor from the jail. The first thing that strikes Ten as weird is their clothes. No suits, just casual attire. They look like two civilians who got lost during their guided tour of the facility. Only the department is sealed due to it being understaffed and holding a supposedly dangerous criminal, and the only people allowed inside are agents with a particular kind of clearing. 

They don’t notice Ten at first, conversing quietly with each other. One of them, a tall (strikingly handsome if you ask Ten) dude, is heatedly saying something to his partner, his hands moving animatedly around him. 

“It has to be Wednesday,” Ten hears him say. “Namjoon said they can’t delay it anymore.”

The other one emits a martyr-like sigh. “Yoongi is still stuck in—”

That’s when they notice Ten and freeze, their faces sporting twin surprised expressions. Ten takes charge of the situation, walking up to them and offering his hand with a professional smile. 

“Agent Ten of the San Francisco Department,” he announces, raising his chin. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The taller dude takes a deep breath, his eyes wide as he turns his entire body to the other one, signaling something with his eyebrows. His partner chuckles nervously and rubs his nose. 

“Hi-i,” he says slowly, stalling for time. “Nice to meet you. I’m, uhm, I’m Jung Hoseok.”

“And Kim Seokjin here,” his friend mirrors his slow tone, carefully shaking the tips of Ten’s fingers as if he’s afraid to catch a disease or something. “We’re here on Lee Taeyong business.”

Ten pipes up, excited to finally get answers. “You’re those officials we were waiting for? Finally. What took you so long?”

Hoseok clears his throat, smiling in a way that scrunches up his nose and makes him look constipated. He sucks in his lips and makes a strained sound, turning to Seokjin for answers.

“We were held up on some official business,” Seokjin supplies, overconfident. “Yes, we are officials who officially handle official business.”

Hoseok elbows him in the ribs and smiles in that weird way again. “Forgive my partner, Ten, he has a weird sense of humor.”

“You don't say,” Ten murmurs, glancing at Seokjin who now seems to be overtly interested in an invisible spot on the grey corridor walls. “So the interrogation will finally happen today, then?”

“Ah, yes, undoubtedly,” Hoseok says, nodding enthusiastically. “You will be notified of its results.”

Ten squints his eyes at him. “I’ll be there, actually.”

“Oh.” Hoseok lets the air out and smacks his lips. “We’ll see you there, then.”

“We won’t,” Seokjin says hastily. “We’re going to be taking care of other things, remember?”

He wiggles his eyebrows at Hoseok so intensely Ten wonders how they don’t fall off. Hoseok slaps his forehead and fakes a laugh. 

“Right, the official business,” he exclaims, throwing his hands up.

“Who will be carrying out the investigation, then? And what are the official charges against Lee Taeyong?”

Hoseok pouts his lips in thought, turning to Seokjin for help, but the man just shakes his head, leaving Hoseok on his own. He turns to Ten again. 

“To be announced.”

Ten opens his mouth to ask further, but Seokjin grabs Hoseok by the elbow and drags him past Ten, making a sharp curve around him on their way out. 

“Official business awaits, sorry, Ten!” He throws over his shoulder without turning around. 

“See you around!” Hoseok yells before they disappear around the corner. 

Ten stands there quietly, listening to their murmuring voices getting further away. He’s pretty sure he catches Seokjin seethe, ‘Let's hope we don’t,’ but the acoustics in this place are a nightmare, so he writes it off to his overactive imagination. 

On the other hand, they seemed weird. Even weirder than your usual brand of TOUCH agents. Ten bites his knuckles in thought, looking at the plastic door and debating going in. Talking to Taeyong doesn’t seem to be such an urgent matter now. He feels the gears turning in his mind as he puts it all together. If the agents on his case are finally here, so are the files. Every time the investigation gets transferred to another facility, they send over the files ahead of the agents’ arrival to have them up to speed. Ten can’t get access to the local computers because he’s being watched, but they had to double the documents to the agents’ personal pads. He can get into _those_.

The last seed of doubt chips away the longer he watches the doors behind which Taeyong is confined. It’s just an innocent hacking. He won’t use anything against the company. He’ll just shed a little light on the whole situation to know how to proceed. It’s okay. He can make a deal with his moral code. 

He turns around and leaves the way he came, preparing a solid argument to present to Mark, because even if he can bypass his own ethics, he still can’t hack the system himself. He’ll need to convince his extremely grumpy little technician to do him a favor, and something is telling Ten that it won’t be easy. 

4

Johnny guesses this is going to be a spectacle the second Ten wraps up his speech and stares at Mark expectantly. 

They found Mark on the floor of the room he shares with Hendery and Yangyang, laptop perched on his lap and playing something that sounded suspiciously like Sailor Moon before he hastily slapped it shut. He’s been brooding all week, not even engaging in banter with Johnny, which Johnny took as a personal insult. No matter what was happening, Mark always found time to call him a moon whore or something like that. 

He doesn’t know what’s been on Mark’s mind, and he’s not very inclined to find out, but it’s kinda obvious. They’re all stressed about this Taeyong business, and not even their usual distraction worked, since Mark’s mood hasn't improved in the slightest. Once again, Johnny takes personal offense in that. 

“What were their names again?” Mark asks tiredly, surprising Johnny with his compliance. 

Ten exchanges a glance with him before speaking. “Jung Hoseok and Kim Seokjin.”

“Department?” Mark wonders, already opening his laptop. 

“They didn’t mention,” Ten murmurs, and Mark sends him a scalding look. “What? You weren’t there. It was the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had.”

“Fine, I’ll just check the correspondence records over the past week,” Mark mumbles. “I’ve been trying to hack the local system because I was bored, but they have some good protection.”

Johnny lands on the couch Mark is leaning on and looks into the screen over his shoulder. Mark’s hands stop over the keyboard as he turns his head and glares at him. He’s so close Johnny sees how blue the circles under his eyes are but doesn’t have time to focus on that, his instincts kicking in and making him lean back and move to the other end of the couch. 

“You’re hungry,” he states nevertheless, fishing a package out of his pocket and throwing it to Mark. “Here.”

Mark catches it in the air, frowning at the title. “Plasma candies?”

“Jaehyun said they’re a good vamp snack,” he says with a frown. “He picked them up for you from the kitchens.”

Mark clicks his tongue, throwing the package on the floor without even opening it. “Sure, Jaehyun would know.”

Johnny breathes out through his nose in frustration, fighting the too-familiar urge to snap at him. Arrogant asshole. 

“How long do you think it will take you?” Ten asks, his arms crossed. “And could you possibly find out who else got the files?”

“I’m almost done,” Mark supplies, fingers rapidly firing away over the keys. “The email system firewalls are shitty, which makes me think they must have another one in place. The one I’m working on is for official business and files, but they have to have another, a more protected one. I saw the cookies for a certain correspondence system in the local database, so I’m guessing that will be it. And I’m done, by the way.”

Ten crosses the room to sit on his other side as Johnny leans in again, watching the familiar mail chain design. “So?”

Mark waves him off like an annoying fly and loads up a search console, clicking a few more buttons. “Nothing in regards to Lee Taeyong has been sent or received in the past week.”

Ten leans back on the couch with a huff. “Via _this_ system.”

“Yep,” Mark nods and picks up the package after all, opening it and popping a candy into his mouth. Johnny smirks. “I could try getting into the local one, but that will take too much time. By that time you’ll find everything out on your own.”

“Try anyway,” Ten commands, rubbing his lips. “I need to have as much information as I can.”

“Why?” Mark looks at him skeptically. “What can you possibly see on his file that will change your mind about helping him?”

“What makes you think I already made up my mind in favor of Anteros?” Ten inquires, swallowing.

Mark cracks the candy in his mouth, sizing him up. “‘Cause we'd be on our way home already otherwise.”

Johnny watches this interaction with something akin to dread forming itself in his stomach. Mark is usually the team’s opposition, arguing with Ten on almost every decision to keep him on his toes and have a healthy and steady mind not to let Ten get lost in his own. If Johnny is his right hand when it comes to combat and strategic decisions, Mark is his left hand that constantly slaps him over that overthinking head of his. But today, Mark is too docile. He’s been like this ever since this mess started, taking Ten’s side from the beginning. Something is happening inside his own complicated mind, and he’s choosing to keep it there instead of being the pain in the ass that Ten needs. 

“Just say you can’t do it and go,” Johnny drawls, deciding to make it easier. 

Mark snaps his head to look at him, habitual anger taking over his features for a second before it smoothes out again. What is this? Mark Lee learning to control his emotions? Seems unreal. 

“I _can_ ,” he stresses. “I just don’t see the point.”

“You never see the point,” Johnny reminds. “But you still do it. What changed?”

Mark’s eyes soften as he blinks rapidly, his gaze dropping to Johnny’s shoulder. Johnny holds his breath as he remembers their conversation earlier this week. 

_You need to choose a side and stick to it. Either you agree with Ten and follow his orders, or go back to being the antagonist and shake some sense into him. He listens to you, even if he pretends not to._

Did Mark actually take his advice? That’s unprecedented. Mark _exists_ to do the exact opposite of what he’s told, especially when it comes to Johnny. 

“Fine,” Mark hisses, his lost demeanor changing to a determined one. “I’ll break into this damn system just so you can finally decide what to do and stick to it.”

Ten looks at Johnny inquiringly, but Johnny just shakes his head. He’s confused himself, and he’s definitely the last person to go to when trying to figure Mark out.

“Now I’d love for you two to fuck off and let me work in peace,” Mark announces snappily, typing so harshly Johnny fears his laptop will crack. “These candies suck, by the way.”

Johnny rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment, promptly standing up and leaving the room. Mark’s comment carries the echoes of his old self, but something is still off, and Johnny doesn’t like it. 

Ten joins him in the living room, his eyes thoughtful as he closes the door. “Is it me, or has he been extra weird lately?”

Johnny rubs his eyes with a tortured sigh. The scratches on his back remind him of themselves when he strains his muscles. They’re healing but their nature doesn’t allow his regeneration factor to be fully effective. 

“The day I know what the fuck is up with Mark Lee will be the day the world turns on its head,” he says defeated. 

Ten doesn’t comment. Johnny turns to look at him but Ten is staring at the wall, biting his knuckles. It’s a telltale sign he’s deep in his thoughts. Johnny leaves him be. Sometimes, it’s better not to know what exactly Ten is thinking. Johnny has a guess it’s about that goddamn fairy in the basement, but he’s spent enough time around Ten to know he will never admit he’s interested in him in more ways than just professional curiosity. Johnny just really hopes it won’t come back to blow up in their faces. 

He leaves the apartment, setting out in search of Jaehyun. At least talking to him doesn’t make Johnny want to shoot himself, and considering they’re on different sides of the game board, it’s indicative of the general state of his team’s morale. 

Jaehyun is… Fascinating. He reminds Johnny of a five-sided prism that keeps spinning. You never know which side you’ll get once it stops and focuses on you. He’s immensely interesting to talk to, because he seems to know a little about everything, and he creates a sense of security that Johnny hasn’t felt since college when his friendship with Ten just started blooming. But Jaehyun is also extremely secretive in a way that sometimes makes Johnny doubt every word that comes out of his mouth. He makes Johnny feel like he can trust him with anything in the world but also shouldn’t be offended if that trust is ever broken because he should’ve seen it coming. He’s overall fascinating, and Johnny keeps finding himself drawn to him. 

His mind drifts back to his conversation with Mark as he walks down the corridor to the apartment Anteros are occupying. 

_Who do_ you _listen to, Johnny?_

_You won’t believe me, but I think I may trust you the most, Mark Lee. Fuck knows why. Perhaps because you already know all my secrets._

_Aren't you ever afraid I might spill them?_

_No. Because I know all of yours._

4

**July 3, 2011, 11:35**

_Venice, Italy_

_Anteros Safehouse_

“Taeyong needs me,” Taeil murmurs, his morning voice groggy as he shakes himself awake. “He asked me to meet him at St Mark’s Square.”

“What for?” Jaehyun wonders sleepily, reluctant to leave the patch of sunlight on the bed, stretching out like a cat. 

He’s perfectly aware of Taeil watching him, which is why he takes extra pleasure in dragging the covers off of him, exposing his body. He feels the familiar thrill of being watched by him and smiles to himself, his closed eyelids painted red from the sun.

Taeil clears his throat, and Jaehyun smiles wider, knowing it’s _him_ making Taeil flustered. It’s still a strange sensation. They’ve been sleeping together for roughly ten years, but he still can’t get used to being with someone he isn’t afraid of. 

There is something about the elf that lowered Jaehyun’s defenses to the point of allowing him into his bed, and not once has he abused that trust. One of these days Jaehyun will have to admit he’s not doing it because taking the hormones from an elf, a creature inherently stronger and more resilient than any human, is much better than suffering through the suppressants. No. They don’t sleep together when they’re on assignment, and every time Jaehyun takes his pill he craves throwing it out and getting back into Taeil’s arms, and it’s not because the pills are disgusting. 

He knows he’s doing it because he genuinely enjoys Taeil’s company. Jaehyun loves him as a friend, and somehow, it never crossed the line. They’re not dating, and they’re both okay with it. Taeil never asks anything of him that Jaehyun doesn’t want to give, and that’s perfect. That’s perfect. 

“Doing recon,” Taeil says eventually. “Our target is said to be frequenting the Quadri Caffè. Taeyong wants us to have lunch there.”

“M-mkay,” Jaehyun drawls, too content to lift a limb. “Yoongi’s supposed to be here any minute, though.”

He opens his eyes after all, watching Taeil get dressed. Just like always, Jaehyun’s gaze gets inevitably drawn to the scars on his back, century-old battle wounds never disappearing from his tanned skin. Jaehyun knows how bumpy they feel under his fingers, and it fills him with unexplainable thrill.

“Send him our way,” Taeil says, putting a shirt on, covering the scars from view. “He’s a half-native, so Taeyong will want his insight.”

“Kay.” He sits up, the covers sliding down to his lap. “Are we supposed to just sit around and wait for you two, then?”

Taeil finishes brushing his hair and comes closer, tracing the creases on Jaehyun’s cheek left there by the pillow. He’s still riding the pheromone high from last night’s sex, so he enjoys the shaky glow Taeil’s touch sends down his blood. He swallows. 

“Sicheng and you did amazing on the Budapest job,” Taeil murmurs. “You deserve a day of rest.”

“As you wish, Commander,” Jaehyun purrs, grabbing the front of Taeil’s shirt and drawing him close for a kiss. 

It lasts not long enough for his taste, and he pouts as Taeil turns away to go for his bag. 

“That should get you through the week,” he throws over his shoulder. 

Jaehyun frowns. “Is that your subtle way of telling me you’re taking the other room tonight?”

Taeil fidgets with the strap of his bag, looking at the floor. “I’ll sleep here, if you want. But I have to go now.”

He disappears without another word, leaving Jaehyun staring at the door. What was that? He’d never had any trouble sharing a bed, even when Jaehyun didn’t need to charge from him. It’s probably the damp climate putting him in this mood. Yeah, that must be it. 

The uneasy feeling follows him out of the room and onto the balcony, where Sicheng is lounging with a cigarette, his feet up on the flower path decorating the railings.

“In fair Verona where we lay our scene…” Sicheng greets him, cranking his head up to follow his movements. 

Jaehyun ignores him. He secures the sheet around his waist and leans on the railing, squinting against the burning sun scalding the streets of Santa Croce. He sees Taeil leave the hotel and cross the little bridge to disappear between the houses.

“You do realize he’s in love with you?” Sicheng notes lazily, his head thrown against the chair. “That’s why he’s so brooding.”

Jaehyun keeps his eyes trained on the street Taeil took and listens to the water softly whisper beneath them. “I think there’s something much more complicated there.”

“Why so?”

“If he only wanted a relationship from me, we’d be dating already,” Jaehyun says, biting his lips. “He has something dark in his heart that won’t let him broach the subject.”

Sicheng gets up with a loud sigh and props his elbows next to him, throwing the cigarette butt into the Canal. Jaehyun flinches in disgust but doesn’t comment. Sicheng has a particular stance on littering that he’s more than glad to announce if asked, and Jaehyun isn’t in the mood for one of his humanity-hating rants. 

“What about you, then?”

“What about me?” Jaehyun wonders, asking himself more than he’s deflecting Sicheng’s question. “I’m not a relationship guy. I love him, but I’d never make a good boyfriend.”

Sicheng snorts, lighting up another cigarette. He’s always chain smoking when they’re off work, constantly vowing to quit the next time they get a job and picking it up again once it’s done. If Jaehyun wasn’t in perfect physical shape thanks to Taeil, he’d probably get sick from the smell of smoke. He wonders how Sicheng can tolerate it in this heat _and_ dress like they’re in the North. The only skin he’s showing is his palms and head. 

“One of these days you’ll admit you have self-esteem issues and stop pitying yourself,” Sicheng declares. 

“I don’t need to admit what I already know,” Jaehyun says with a sigh. “And I thought you’d get it. You were fucked by people in the same ways I was. The only difference is our circumstances.”

“Nah.” Sicheng bites off a piece of his cuticle and spits it away, his sharp eyes trained on the house across from them. “The difference is that you fucked a guy to death because of your nature, and _my_ nature made me _choose_ to pick up a knife and plunge it into his throat. So no, I don’t feel guilty. And neither should you.”

“Who said anything about being guilty?” Jaehyun murmurs, heat crawling up his neck. Sicheng has a particular knack for getting under everyone’s skin. 

“Your eyes did,” Sicheng supplies. “When I first met you. It’s not as strong now, but you used to look like a fucking martyr, Jaehyun.”

He doesn’t respond, watching the crowd of people under their feet. It’s peak tourist season, which is perfect for the purpose of their visit to this city but is a bitch to Jaehyun’s peace of mind. It dawns on him that this is probably why Sicheng is dressed this way. He hates people staring at his body, and they always do. 

“I used to think about this job as everything I’m worth,” he says quietly. “I don’t anymore. I’m happy here, Si.”

“Are you?”

That’s the thing with Sicheng. Not only does he not trust other people, he always makes them doubt themselves. Which is what happens now as Jaehyun’s mind whirs to life, sending echoes of old guilt down his synapses. So much for feeding and feeling normal for a change. 

He’s saved from spiraling over having some kind of debt to humanity by Min Yoongi, which is quite ironic. He watches as Yoongi navigates the crowd, holding the hand of a guy who looks even more annoyed than Sicheng, and that’s quite an achievement. 

“Did Yoongi drag a date to a job?” Sicheng wonders, noticing them too. 

“I doubt it’s that reckless,” Jaehyun muses. “It’s Yoongi we’re talking about. He’s too professional for that.”

“Hey, doesn’t he look familiar?” Sicheng says suddenly, leaning forward. 

Jaehyun studies the guy’s face, but he’s turned away from them and wearing a pair of sunglasses so huge they cover half of his face, so it’s hard to recognize him. He hums in thought. 

They watch Yoongi leave the guy on the bridge, walking inside the hotel. The guy leans on the railing, sneering at the people passing by and constantly fixing his sunglasses. Sicheng provides a running commentary on the guy’s supposed train of thought while they wait for Yoongi to come up, and Jaehyun can’t help but laugh when Sicheng imitates his annoyed voice, complaining about the heat and humidity. 

“Stop,” Jaehyun begs, even though he’s amused beyond measure. “He seems like a nice kid.”

“I’m not being mean,” Sicheng exclaims. “Just entertaining. Look at the poor guy, he looks like he’d rather be swimming in snow or some shit.”

“My bet he’s a skinwalker,” Jaehyun says, biting his lip. “Probably a bird or some sea creature.”

“Definitely someone accustomed to cold climate,” Sicheng suggests. 

“Five bucks on a mermaid,” Jaehyun says hurriedly, offering his fist, and Sicheng promptly bumps it. 

“Get your money ready.”

They hear the door open, and three seconds later, they’re joined by Yoongi, who looks no less pissed than his companion. 

“Good morning, fuckers, make it quick, I’m on vacation,” he grunts out. 

“Nice to see you too, Yoongi,” Sicheng says sweetly. For someone who hates humans, he always gets a special kick out of being nice to Yoongi. 

“Listen, I have a very heat non-resistant boyfriend down there,” Yoongi whines. “Jimin’s meeting my family today for the first time, and he’s seconds away from shifting into a swan and just yeeting his ass out of Italy through the Grand Canal.”

Sicheng yelps in excitement, rubbing his fingers before Jaehyun’s face. Jaehyun pokes his tongue out at him. “I’ll give you your money once I find my pants,” he seethes before turning to Yoongi. “Taeyong asked you to meet him at the Quadri Caffè.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue but nods. “Fine. Anything else?”

“You’re looking lovely today,” Sicheng purrs, but Yoongi just flips him the bird and leaves the room with a string of murmured curses. 

“Why do you love to annoy him so much?” Jaehyun wonders with a chuckle. 

“He’s the only human I respect,” Sicheng answers, taking a drag. “But I can never let him know that.”

They watch Yoongi join his boyfriend again and lead him down the alley towards St Mark’s Square. It’s funny, how they fit together, their bodies gravitating naturally to each other as they navigate the crowded street. It makes him think about Taeil again.

“I’m happy with the way things are,” he says softly. “Taeil doesn’t need me bringing my messes into his head any more than I already am. He has enough of his own.”

Sicheng doesn’t say anything to that, but Jaehyun feels he wants to. He’s known Taeil longer, he probably knows him better, and Jaehyun suspects they used to have a relationship similar to the one Jaehyun has with him now, but it doesn’t mean he has everything figured out. Whatever they were is in the past. These days, Sicheng prefers to stay on pills and only take juice from the people who won’t get out of it alive, and Jaehyun finds peace in Taeil’s arms. 

Venice is beautiful around them, he has to admit. They’ll probably leave it under the cover of night with blood on their hands, but that’s how it is these days. He’s a long way from his quiet home in West Fargo, his bookshop has probably been turned into some pretentious modern cafe, and the thing that used to scare him the most about himself is now his main weapon. He twirls the amulet Irene gifted him once between his fingers and smirks to himself. 

It’s different now. A lot has changed in the past fourteen years. And if sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night feeling the drip-drop-drop pattern of wax on his arms, nobody but Taeil will ever know. And Taeil will never tell. 

4

**May 26, 2019, 03:13**

_Seoul, South Korea_

_TOUCH HQ_

Mark is genuinely, honestly close to outright fucking weeping. This system looked like a particularly tough nut at first, yes, but it’s no different than any other TOUCH HQ system that he’s had to break into. Granted, that’s happened only twice, but he distinctly remembers hacking them in under two hours, and here he is, fifth hour ticking away and he’s not even close to getting inside the database. 

It can only mean two things — either luck isn’t on his side today, or there is something that someone in the Seoul agency really doesn’t want him to see. He’d broken down their exterior firewalls in half an hour, but then he bumped into another inner protection code that keeps throwing him back. More so, the firewall resets itself every hour, which is compelling and sophisticated coding, he has to give it to them, but it also means he has to break into it all over again every time. It threw him out for the fourth time ten minutes ago, and now he has another fifty to figure out how to bypass the code before he has to start the process all over again. 

“Just say you can’t do it and go,” he mumbles, curling his lips. 

Johnny really thinks he can just throw a challenge at him and expect him to take the bait? Fuck that pedigree consumer, honestly. Mark hates him so much he almost breaks the space bar when he remembers his comment about Mark needing to finally commit to a side. Like Johnny knows _shit_. Sometimes he looks at Mark like he has everything about him figured out, and it only makes Mark wish he would look any other way. Don’t look at me, don’t analyze me, don’t fucking dare to assume you know me. Don’t think you have the right to know me.

He rubs his face to rid himself of the memories and pops another one of the plasma candies into his mouth. They do taste like shit, but they still do wonders to refill his energy. He’ll be damned — or well, _more_ damned — if he admits it to Johnny or his new best friend dude bro pal Jaehyun. God, that _bitch_.

Mark growls quietly, closing his eyes and lying down on the floor to calm himself. It’s no good to work while this angry. 

He relocates to the living room sometime around midnight. The windows are wide open, letting inside a light breeze that cools him off. Third quarter moon is gaining power outside, and he watches it glow dimly as he remembers the night of the last full moon. So much for not thinking about Johnny. 

His moon gazing is interrupted in a rude fashion when a dark bird suddenly leaps into the room, scaring the shit out of Mark for a second before he remembers he’s the superior creature here. He watches the bird land in the shade on the shelf and debates shooing it away, but then decides he doesn’t want to get up. He’ll just wait until it realizes there’s nothing to eat here and leaves itself. 

He gets up to keep working, still painfully aware of another living creature in the room, and tries to focus on the code, but something about the bird keeps drawing his attention. It’s too quiet. Birds are never this quiet. 

As if in response to his thoughts, the bird flies off the shelf and lands on the table, tilting its head with a loud caw. A raven. Mark stares at it and realizes with freezing dread that it’s staring back. 

“Shoo?” He tries, getting more suspicious of it by the second. 

Didn’t Namjoon have a raven on his shoulder when they were arrested?

That thought doesn’t get anywhere, because the bird suddenly throws itself on Mark’s laptop, landing its claws on the keys. Mark yells in disbelief, shaking the laptop to get it off, terrified of what it might do to the coding, and forcibly throws the raven off. It emits a shrill sound of distaste and leaves through the window, disappearing into the night as if it was never here. 

“What the fuck?” Mark whispers to himself, wondering if there was acid in those candies. Is he tripping?

His half-dead heart is beating at a slightly fast pace, and it’s so uncomfortable he rubs his chest to calm it down. Is this how humans feel when they’re calm? Disgusting. 

He allows himself a second to get over the surprise of this encounter and looks back at the screen, prepared to crunch and yell if he has to in order to break in, but another curse gets stuck in his throat. The screen isn’t a depressing black background with white code anymore. 

He’s in. He’s inside the fucking system, the tabs and folders of Seoul HQ files neatly organized in a table, waiting for him to poke through them. Mark blinks at the screen, shocked beyond comprehension, and looks at the window again. Was he just visited by a fucking god of coding? In the form of a _raven_?

His ears pick up someone approaching the room, and he hastily starts the copying process to transfer everything to his drive before he’s thrown out again. 

Johnny runs into the room, hanging off of the door handle, eyes darting around wildly until he locates Mark. “Taeyong’s interrogation is about to start. Some High Council dude just arrived and demanded to see him right away. Ten thinks it’s the one we’ve been waiting for.”

Mark nods sharply and secures the screen with a password in case someone wanders inside while the system is copying the files and stands up, taking another candy. 

“One for the road,” he says, putting it into his mouth. 

As expected, Johnny doesn’t react to the phrase. Mark doesn’t let it hurt him, because he should’ve long accepted Johnny will never admit ever hearing it before, and storms past him into the corridor. He misses the puzzled and sad look Johnny sends his way, and perhaps, it’s for the best.

///

Ten is close to biting the skin off of his knuckles, but he can’t stop shaking and needs a way to calm himself. Taeyong is suspiciously relaxed inside the interrogation room, going as far as checking himself out in the mirror and fixing his hair. He’s so full of himself Ten almost admires it.

Namjoon enters with two cups of coffee, handing one to Ten and calmly sipping from his as he settles to watch. 

“You’re not coming in?” Ten frowns. 

“I was told to stay away for the first part,” Namjoon informs him, a hint of irritation seeping into his tone. Ten smirks. Take that, you friendly fucker. 

Johnny comes back with Mark and Jaehyun in tow, Taeil following suit a minute later. 

“Thanks for not cuffing him,” Taeil says quietly, and Ten sees Namjoon nod with a smile. 

There’s no conversation after that while they wait, and it only makes Ten more nervous. 

“So who’s questioning him?” He asks after all, thinking about the agents he met this evening. 

“Not the person I was expecting,” Namjoon supplies. “This agent arrived half an hour ago and demanded full authority. Considering his status, I didn’t have a choice but to grant it.”

“Who is he?” Johnny asks with a frown, but nobody gets to hear it. 

The door to the interrogation room opens, and they all look at the agent slowly coming in. Ten feels the paper cup slip from his hand but doesn’t register the coffee spilling all over his shoes. 

“What the _fuck_?” Mark voices his thoughts, coming closer to the glass to make sure he’s not hallucinating. 

Ten can relate. He stares at the familiar face, his mind void of any thoughts. 

“Hello,” comes from the speakers, in the low voice of no one other than Yuta fucking Nakamoto. 

Taeyong looks as stunned as they all feel, his hands frozen in mid motion. Yuta closes the door behind him, carefully taking his coat off and placing it on the back of the chair. Ten watches him roll up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal a black tattoo on the inner side of his wrist. It looks old but still has a particular sharpness to it that suggests magical ink. 

“Showed you mine, now show me yours,” he says softly, walking around the table to stand with his profile to the ones watching. 

Taeyong stays motionless for some time, his eyes taking Yuta in, until he gets up reluctantly. He walks up to Yuta and touches the tattoo, his lips trembling as he studies it. Then he straightens up and rolls up his own sleeve, showing the twin of the tattoo on his own wrist. 

Emotionless demeanor seems to shed from Yuta in the blink of an eye. He breathes out loudly, his eyes glued to Taeyong’s tattoo. 

“ _Juuryoku_ ,” he says shakily, meeting Taeyong’s eyes. 

Taeyong doesn’t answer at first, his face lost as dozens of emotions flit across it. He tries to speak a few times but nothing comes out, only a groaning sound dying somewhere deep in his throat. Yuta extends a hand, wrapping his fingers around Taeyong’s wrist, nudging him forward and into his arms until they’re embracing. 

Being this close to Yuta seems to break Taeyong out of his stupor. His body comes alive, and he wraps his arms around Yuta, holding him so tightly Ten can see the seam of Yuta’s shirt strain. Taeyong buries his face in Yuta’s chest, his own shaking with silent sobs.

“ _Yuki,_ ” he breathes out and leans away to look at his face, tears in his eyes. 

“It’s been a long time,” Yuta whispers, a shy smile fighting its way to his lips. 

Taeyong steps away from him, his palms still cupping Yuta’s elbows, and smiles, nodding a little hysterically. “Yes.”

They stand there, looking at each other with so many secret memories on their faces it physically makes Ten sick, because something is terribly wrong here, someone has definitely slipped him some hallucinogens, because it simply can’t be that—

“Yes,” Taeyong repeats. “It really has been.”

He chuckles under his breath, taking Yuta’s chin in his palm and pressing on his lower lip with his thumb. 

Taeyong smiles even wider, sighing with content. “You betraying motherfucking piece of shit.”

It happens so fast Ten will later wonder how nobody got whiplash. One second, Taeyong is looking at Yuta so lovingly they’re fit to be photographed for a romcom poster, and another — he throws his hand back and punches Yuta so hard he falls to the floor, gripping his jaw. 

In retrospect, they really should’ve cuffed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooooooo hi. I know it’s been like two months but welp it really be like that sometimes. we’re in a new setting with some new mYsTeRiOuS characters and that’s exciting owo  
> thanks to everyone leaving kudos, commenting, and subscribing, a huge smooch to every one of you!!
> 
> come talk to me about ets or anything else on [twitter](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara) or [cc](https://curiouscat.me/romulusadhara)!  
> 


	5. rolling stone.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun is high up in the sky behind the window of his cell. Somewhere in the building, a plan is brewing.

_[Dong Sicheng](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara/status/1138408684600614912) _

> **race** : huli jing

> **age** : 21 [x] 

> **position** : [redacted] {Seoul branch of TOUCH} 

> **relations** : Lee Taeyong [redacted] 

> **education** : TOUCH Academy Law School (Shanghai HQ) [unfinished]

### 5

**December 3, 1992, 10:14**

_Tokyo, Japan_

As far as Dong Sicheng can recall, the last tattered remains of his sanity and general compassion for the human population dissolved into ashes when he was fifteen years old. He even knows the precise moment it happened. He was standing on probably the thinnest ledge in the world that circled the fortieth story of a Tokyo skyscraper and listening to his mother getting murdered in the penthouse inside. Hard to forget that one. 

He remembers being numb. Late November in Tokyo wasn’t that cold when you walked the streets wrapped in a coat, but standing at the top of the forty-stories drop in a thin t-shirt and booty shorts really put things into perspective. And you know, the whole listening to some psychopath brutally butchering the only person that has ever cared for you thing didn’t really add reasons to be lively and happy. 

He wasn’t even scared. He spent the better part of his life climbing walls, jumping impossible leaps, and balancing himself on ropes and slim railings. It was all about ankle strength and breathing control. At some point, a pigeon startling him out of his concentration almost cost him his life and he leaned back, blissfully weightless for a second — in that moment, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to let himself fall and be taken by gravity — before he managed to regain his balance and press his frozen face to the rough stone of the building. 

Being powerless was the worst of that. It happened so fast — one moment he was helping his mom set up the amulets and candles, and the next — she was ushering him to the terrace because the client appeared earlier than expected. Sicheng wasn’t one to peep on what his mom was doing with rich human males to secure a prosperous life for herself and her son, so he didn’t realize something was amiss as he hid inside the terrace, far beyond the view from the penthouse. He was doing his homework in the attached patio when the terrace door suddenly flew open, the draft pushing out a light thin cloth. It only took one glance for him to realize it was his mother’s favorite silk white robe, soaked in blood. 

They had a plan for this. Mom made him recite it before every marriage of hers, and he always did it with the lazy arrogance of a teenage kid who never assumed the worst can happen until it flew past his motionless eyes. He froze for only but a second, and the next thing he knew — he was climbing out through the window, surprisingly steady fingers gripping the slippery railing and his feet finding the thin ledge. And then he heard it. Low whining sound, resonating with something deep inside his magic center, cutting into his ears despite the howling wind. His mother’s dying howl. 

His bladder certainly would have given out if it hadn’t been so damn cold. He didn’t know how long he stayed there, contemplating going around the building and breaking into the next penthouse he knew was empty, but by the time he realized he couldn’t feel his toes and his skin was stapled to the ledge and railing with frost, it was already twilight. He didn’t feel the pain as he was prying his hands and feet off of the metal, his skin coming off of his limbs in sickly thin layers. The pain came later. 

He never knew who called for the agents. Certainly wasn’t him. Probably the cops. It took them ten minutes of looking at the crime scene to realize it wasn’t their department and call for TOUCH. Sicheng remembers staring at his mother’s mutilated body, covered by a lazy white sheet soaked through with blood, and thinking that she wouldn’t want to go out like that. Everything after that was dark. 

He came to in a hospital, fluorescent glow cutting into his perception and sending tiny jolts of pain down his synapses. He tried to cover his face but found that he couldn’t move or feel his hands. Bandaged, he thought. I want to be dead, he thought. 

There was a whisper of clothes next to his bed. He jerked in fear, his instincts telling him to _run_ , but before he could even lift a limb, there was a careful hand on his wrist. He looked at it in a haze, noting a striking contrast between his own skin, pale and covered in grey patches of frostbite, and an immaculate tanned hand wrapped in a leather glove. 

“Moving will only make it more painful,” the owner of the hand supplied. 

With a titanic effort, Sicheng managed to lift his head and look at him. The first thing that struck him weird was the eyes. Wide and compassionate. He wasn’t used to that from people other than his mother. Oh. His mother. 

“Did you catch him?” He coughed out, his lungs flaming with pain. 

The coughing didn’t stop there, taking up his airways and shaking up his chest so hard his waist hurt, every bone in his body a weak and soft mass of excruciating pain. The man frowned as he waited for Sicheng to stop coughing, his fingers constricting around his wrist for a second before letting go. 

“Not yet,” the agent said quietly. “But I’m working on it.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Sicheng noted. “Seeing as you’re here.”

“You’re my prime witness.”

He fished an ID out of his pocket, presenting it to Sicheng. It was then that it occured to Sicheng how stupid he was not to ask for it himself. That man could’ve been the killer who came back to finish the job. He grit his teeth and tried to focus on reading the ID, but everything swam before his eyes. He gave up, closing them after he painfully managed to read the name. 

“Lee Taeyong,” he repeated, licking his cracked lips. “What do you want to know?”

“Ideally, everything. But you’re not in a state to give your statement.”

“Why are you here, then?”

“General compassion.”

Sicheng’s neck winced with pain as he tried to meet Taeyong’s eyes, his own eyelids drooping. He was so tired. 

“Did she suffer?”

Taeyong’s lips twitched. He couldn’t hold eye contact and dropped his gaze to the pillow, his jawline working as he tried to find an answer. “It happened quickly.”

It was evening. Sicheng remembers the dim glow of the streetlight outside his window, distorted through a dirty window. Not high, then. Second floor, tops. 

“You’re a liar, Lee Taeyong,” Sicheng whispered, a plan already working up in his mind. “I was there. I heard everything. I felt it. And you just took away any trust I could’ve had for you.”

“I… feared that would cause your state to deteriorate.”

“Then you’re a coward, too.”

Taeyong tried to say something, but Sicheng just closed his eyes, tuning him out. He felt like he was swimming, the drugs they gave him dulling his senses and cutting off his powers. They wanted to keep him calm and docile, but they never took into account one simple thing. He hated losing. 

“Get out,” he gritted out, interrupting a pathetic excuse Taeyong was trying to get through. “And don’t come back until you have my mother’s killer.”

Taeyong came back before that, despite Sicheng’s meek medicine-induced protests. Sicheng refused to talk to him at first, but Taeyong persisted, updating him on the course of the case and talking about everything and nothing, trying to occupy and distract the boy’s mind. Taeyong knew what it meant to lose someone you love most in the world, and while his person was still alive and well and nothing can compare to the pain of prematurely losing a parent, he liked to believe they could get along with the boy. So he told Sicheng about Yuta. 

After a while, Sicheng opened up a little, but only enough to speak about that fateful day and give Taeyong any details that could help him catch the killer. Sicheng never addressed him by his name, choosing to stick to the ‘liar’ nickname he was proud of as any other teenager would be. 

His testimony didn’t provide much input. Yes, he knew what his mother was doing. No, he didn’t mind, because he was always fed and clothed thanks to her. Her countless husbands provided well for them, and he got to travel the world and see the wonders he would’ve never imagined if his mother wasn’t working so hard. No, he doesn’t know anything about the fact all her husbands died mysteriously. You make your bed with a huli jing, you sleep in it until you can’t handle it anymore. Yes, the killer was supposed to be another potential boyfriend of his momma. No, nothing indicated that it was a setup. 

All in all, Taeyong didn’t get any closer to catching him than he was before finally getting a statement out of Sicheng. Instead, he found himself getting attached to the boy, curious and worried about his fate against his wishes. He brought him books and stories, spending more time in his room than is typical for an agent communicating with a witness. He couldn’t help it. There was something magnetic about Dong Sicheng that Taeyong couldn’t figure out no matter how hard he tried. 

They never found the murderer. A month later, he killed again. Lee Taeyong was a consulting agent on that case, and in the course of investigation it turned out that Dong Sicheng, a fifteen-year-old son of the first victim, would be a star witness. It was a great pity that he wasn’t able to testify, because Sicheng escaped his hospital room a day after learning that the man who destroyed his life got to do it to someone else. Nobody ever found him. Taeyong took it upon himself to search every corner of the country and beyond, never abandoning the hope of finding the boy and helping him find home and rest. 

He caught glimpses of Sicheng all over the world. He could never figure out how Sicheng traveled, but he found fox hair stuck to the broken window of Sicheng’s room, which provided a guess. The boy wasn’t supposed to learn how to survive on his own that early. He wasn’t supposed to know how to cross borders and travel to other continents without money or documents, but somehow, he knew, he learned, and he never got caught. 

Taeyong almost got him in Canada in ‘93, Sicheng’s fingerprints surfacing in a B&E case. By the time he tracked him down to a motel uptown, he’d already left. He left Taeyong a letter, though. 

_you know what I kept thinking about over and over again while I was standing on that railing, freezing to death and listening to my mother getting butchered? my homework. my fucking homework, left in plain sight on that patio. how fucked up is that? what was wrong with me? was I_ afraid _he would see it and find me and kill me too? or was I_ hoping _he would do it?_

_I hope you are well, liar. I will find him and do what must be done. hope you’re my arresting agent. I think I reacted rather poorly that day, and I wish we could talk more. goodbye, Taeyong_

Taeyong got swept up in work for a long time after that. He still kept tabs, but it was hard to monitor the process of tracking someone when they were somehow really good at hiding. 

Sicheng wrote to him again three months after Canada, this time not waiting until Taeyong found it himself. 

_Europe is pretty. pretty fucking boring. I’m making my way to… but if I tell you, you will come for me, won’t you? to put me in the system or whatnot. I would give you a return address to answer me, but you’re a liar, you won’t sit tight. liar liar liar. that hurt? I don’t know why I keep writing you. you kept lying to me, telling me my mother didn’t suffer, telling me you’ll catch him, telling me everything will be okay. does it seem like I’m okay, Lee Taeyong?_

_does it?_

It didn’t. His letters were never consistent in volume or dates. Sometimes, Taeyong went for months without hearing from him and fearing that he did find his target after all. No matter the outcome of that meeting, Taeyong knew he would next see Sicheng in captivity. Either in handcuffs or a body bag. Just when he was starting to spiral, Sicheng wrote to him again, and the letters came in rapid succession, as if he was apologizing for keeping Taeyong hanging for so long, even if he never admitted it. 

Taeyong grew to love the boy like a rogue brother who couldn’t find peace of mind but still stayed family Taeyong was supposed to protect. Tracing the letters never helped, and so he stayed there, sitting back like a pathetic weak spectator, watching a horrible drawn-out tragedy play out before his eyes, powerless to interfere. He only hoped the ending wouldn’t be painful. 

The next time Taeyong thought he had him was in Mongolia in ‘94. Sicheng was careless enough to get caught on a surveillance tape, facial recognition software picking him out in a second. Getting there was a bitch even with Taeyong’s level of clearance, but he fought through. When Taeyong finally got there, the only thing he found was a carton box waiting for him. Sicheng left him a birthday present, neatly wrapped in twine with a note stapled on top. It took Taeyong a second to realize he wasn’t careless. He knew what he was doing when he looked up at that camera. 

_I always wondered how old you are. your ID said you were around thirty back then. but something tells me you lied about that too._

_my father died before I was born, did you know? you probably did. he was one of my mom’s ‘clients’. she was an amazing black widow, you gotta admit. well, apart from that time her potential new husband turned out to be a psychopath. sometimes, I worry that I’m just like him._

_I’ll find him, Taeyong, just you watch._

He went off the grid then, even more than before, and Taeyong decided to wait until Sicheng’s birthday rolled around. Something told him Sicheng would want to come back home to accept his powers in their full glory on the day he turned eighteen. He was only partially wrong. 

Sicheng did come back on that day, but he didn’t surface in Zhejiang, his homeland. No, the boy went back to Tokyo, to the place where his mother died at, and oh gods, Taeyong bashed himself for a long time for that one. Of course the boy would want to visit her grave. 

He found the last note he ever received from Dong Sicheng on his mother’s tombstone, pressed to the ground with a heavy camomile bouquet. It was cold, December of ‘95, and Taeyong had just made up his mind about finally fucking retiring and searching for Chai. He spent enough time in fruitless attempts to find Sicheng; it was about time he switched his focus to someone else, just as important and probably just as pointless. The chill went up his sleeves and shook his bones as he stood above Sicheng’s mother’s grave, the note clutched in his numb fingers. The paper fluttered in the sharp wind. 

_hello, liar. this is the last you’ll hear of me. I have a plan, Taeyong, and it will work if you don’t stand in my way. you’d probably like it if you heard it but no spoilers, right?_

_I wish you had told me the truth that day. I wish I trusted you enough to allow you to write back. I could use a friend. perhaps, we are just that, and isn’t that simply tragic?_

_we’ll meet again, I know it. one way or another, we’ll meet again. don’t lie to me when it happens, please. don’t ever lie to me again. I hope you… doesn’t matter. goodbye, liar._

Sicheng kept true to his word. Taeyong didn’t hear from him again, and if it seemed impossible to catch him before, he went to extra lengths to really disappear that time. 

A lot happened in Taeyong’s life in the next three years, but he never stopped holding his breath and waiting for another letter to come in the mail. When it finally did in 1998, it was everything that Taeyong was afraid of in all the years of knowing Dong Sicheng. 

The letter was a notice to appear in Shanghai TOUCH HQ court. Taeyong wasn’t an active agent by then, but his service as one of TOUCH’s best and brightest wasn’t needed. 

No, he was summoned as a witness in a murder case involving one and only Dong Sicheng, a second-year student of Shanghai TOUCH Academy. 

5

**May 26, 2019, 04:30**

_Seoul, South Korea_

_TOUCH HQ_

Taeyong didn’t hit Yuta again.

He stood over his slumped form for a few moments, shellshocked and frozen, staring at the gradually purpling skin of Yuta’s jaw as if he was surprised he did that, and then turned around forcefully, dragging his feet and falling back in his chair just in time for the guards to come in and cuff him after all.

That was twenty minutes ago. Now, they’re sitting opposite of each other completely silent. Yuta is pressing an ice pack dutifully provided by an agent to his jaw, hypnotizing Taeyong’s face. Taeyong, in turn, looks extremely fascinated with a crack in the wall behind Yuta. 

Ten snaps first. 

“Are they communicating telepathically?” He wonders out loud, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “What the hell is going on?”

He turns to Namjoon for answers, but the witch just shakes his head, sipping his cold coffee. He seems absolutely stolid, and it only adds to the reasons Ten thinks he’s full of shit. 

“Agent Nakamoto outranks me on all accounts,” he supplies. “I am in no position to question his actions.”

“Isn’t High Council the highest authority in TOUCH?”

Namjoon clicks his tongue, squinting his eyes at Yuta’s profile behind the glass. “He’s higher.”

“Bullshit.” Ten stands before him, hands on his waist. “I’ve known that man for years, and not once did he mention anything about having a position beyond the Council.”

“People aren’t always who we think they are,” Namjoon notes evenly, not even bothering to look up. “Get used to it.”

Ten wants to seethe, or shake the answers out of him, or do something equally dramatic, but he knows that in the end he won’t do anything. It’s the nagging pitiful thought that keeps bothering him these days. He’s not what he used to be. He’s gone soft. 

He catches movement in the corner of his eye and snaps his head to look inside the room. Taeyong is leaning forward, cuffed hands behind his back preventing him from getting closer. Yuta reacts to that, interlacing his fingers on the table, hair falling into his eyes as he tilts his head. 

Anticipation rings in the air, like ozone charged before a storm. Ten presses his hand to the glass, desperate to catch every word spoken. 

They end up talking at the same time. 

“What are you doing here, Yuki?”

“Why haven’t you called me?”

Yuta raises his eyebrows at Taeyong, and it’s that familiar gesture of his that makes Ten’s head boil. This is the man he’s known since he started working at TOUCH, someone he considered one of his best friends, the man he’s talked to thousands of times. He’s had that eyebrow raise aimed at him so many times he’s lost count, and seeing it here, an ocean away from home, feels like dissociating. 

“Why should I?” Taeyong wonders, pursing his lips. “You and I parted ways years ago. I never needed your help in all this time.”

“This is different,” Yuta seethes, his palms spread on the table. “Or is it a coincidence you had a team from my own department come for you?”

“Believe it or not, it _was_ a coincidence,” Taeyong sighs. “I was as flabbergasted as you are when they showed up to take me in.”

Yuta chews on his lips, a nervous habit Ten has seen in him only a handful of times when things were really going to shit. 

“Fine, then,” he decrees. “Why did I have to find out about this on accident, huh? You should’ve contacted me right away.”

“I should’ve- _Fuck you_ , Nakamoto,” Taeyong spits out, venom dripping from his tongue. There’s something else there, but Ten can’t quite pinpoint it. “I’ve never needed your fucking help, I stopped needing _you_ eighty years ago, and you really have the audacity to walk in here and tell me—”

“Yes, I do!” Yuta exclaims, standing up so abruptly his chair falls to the floor with a metallic screech that feedbacks in the mics. “You were facing _death,_ juuryoku, you still are, and—”

“Don’t call me that,” Taeyong asks softly, his face drained of blood, his eyes glued to one of Yuta’s necklaces. “You’ve lost every right to.”

All the fight leaves Yuta’s body in a tired slump of his shoulders. He picks up his chair and lands it heavily on the floor, picking up his fallen coat and sitting down again. The chair creaks under his weight. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers so quietly it’s almost inaudible. Taeyong flinches. “I know I hurt you, but I had a reason.”

Taeyong drags his eyes heavily to meet Yuta’s, a disbelieving frown tagging at his forehead. Ten sees a shine of his unshed tears and feels his heart clench involuntarily. 

“ _Eight centuries,_ ” Taeyong drawls, almost in a whine. “You were always there. You always came, even when you didn’t need to, but one time, _one time when it fucking mattered_ , you weren’t there. You promised, and you weren’t there.”

“Taeyong—”

“And you know what’s the worst part about it?” Taeyong continues, unaware of anything or anyone, his face twisted in such ancient pain Ten doesn’t think he will ever be able to completely comprehend the depth of it. “I could never stop waiting. Every time I was close to death, or about to get my cover blown, or had every plan go to shit, there was always a part of me that wanted to look up and see that you’re there, ready to help me and save me like you always did. I never looked up, because I knew you wouldn’t be there, but I never stopped wanting to.”

“I’m here now,” Yuta murmurs. 

“It’s too late,” Taeyong shakes his head. “Stay out of it.”

Yuta stands up and walks around the table, extending his hand to touch Taeyong’s shoulder but not letting it fall, and so it hangs there in the air, fingers shaking. “I’ll sort it out. It’s the least I could do.”

“Don’t get involved,” Taeyong insists. “Respect my wish for once in your fucking life.”

Yuta makes a strange wailing sound and starts talking rapidly in what Ten assumes is Japanese, which just adds another point of confusion into a pile of chaos in his head. Taeyong doesn’t seem too fazed, and _of course_ he knows Japanese. Based on his eight-hundred-years remark, Ten wouldn’t be surprised if he knows more languages than there are people in this room. They converse in short sentences, and Ten doesn’t need to be a translator to guess those are mostly insults, and they’re not simple comments. People don’t look this agitated and hurt unless it’s deeply personal. 

It goes on for some time, and a short look over the room tells Ten that Taeil is the only one who understands their conversation. Namjoon too, maybe, but his face is as impassive as it was before so who knows. 

Before Ten’s head can explode from the strain, Taeil sharply snaps his head up, sucking the air in in response to a remark falling from Taeyong’s lips with an acid tone. 

Yuta jerks back, as if someone slapped him, and gasps in disbelief. “Wow. That was low, even for you,” he says in English again. 

“I’m learning from the best,” Taeyong hums, winking at him with such a cruel smirk it imprints itself on Ten’s eyelids. He wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of it. 

Yuta doesn’t even grant that with an answer, snatching his coat up from the chair and throwing it on himself as he storms out of the room. Ten hangs back for a moment to watch Taeyong’s cold expression melt into a heartbroken one and hurries outside to intercept Yuta. 

“What the fuck?”

“Hi to you, too,” Yuta comments coldly, buried in his phone. “Keep it short, I have shit to do. Where’s Kim Namjoon?”

“In the room, and I _won’t_ keep it short,” Ten seethes, grabbing Yuta’s wrist to make him look up. “What’s going on? How do you know him? What are you doing here?”

Yuta huffs in annoyance, ripping his wrist out of Ten’s clutch, his eyes flashing with yellow. Ten notes the circles under his eyes and wonders if he came here straight from the airport. His skin looks ashen and sickly, and his greasy hair is pulled back in a tight bun. Jetlag will do that to you. 

“I’m yet to find out what’s going on,” Yuta starts, enunciating the consonants in that way that always made Ten uneasy. “We go way back. And I’m here to get him out. Any more questions?”

Ten counts his breaths, taken aback. Yuta is staring at him impassively, his lips pressed tight together, his dark eyes glazed over with anger. 

“Yuta, I’m fucking lost here,” Ten gives up eventually. “You wouldn’t believe the mess we’ve been in, and you seem to know more than anyone here. Talk to me.”

He sees the effort it takes Yuta not to snap at him in the way he closes his eyes, choosing his words carefully. Finally, he opens them, nostalgic traces of their friendship sneaking back in. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out. “But I can’t tell you much for now.”

“Listen—”

“No, _you_ listen. This,” he motions to the interrogation room, “is so much bigger than you can even imagine. The less you know, the better. I promise it will all make sense eventually, I’m sure of it because I can’t see why else you would be called on this assignment, but for now… We just need to trust Taeyong.”

Ten waters his dry mouth and tries to make his tongue do its duty. 

“From this point on,” Yuta stresses, putting his hands on Ten’s shoulders and staring into his eyes, “you must believe everything Taeyong tells you. This is the only way. And don’t trust anyone apart from him, you hear me?”

“Even you?” Ten stutters out, suddenly thirsty. It’s his usual response to fear, and ain’t that a wonder. 

Yuta’s face drops. He steps away, worrying his lip and burying his fingers in the mess of his hair. “Maybe, even me. Just him.”

He leaves with that, disappearing without a goodbye or another explanation. Ten stares at his retreating back, catching echoes of his voice saying something into his phone, and tries to make sense of the chaos of information in his head. Trust Taeyong, of all people. Coming from a dude who is obviously not the person Ten believed him to be. 

The only thing he knows for sure now is that he can’t even trust himself. 

5

The rest of Taeyong’s interrogation turns out to be a complete waste of time. Despite his initial outgoing and even rather poseur demeanor, seeing Yuta has obviously thrown him off-course, and he spends the rest of his questioning looking squarely at the table and giving curt two-words responses. Johnny watches his interaction with Namjoon with a sticky feeling of witnessing a badly rehearsed play. The only thing missing from this overdrawn tragicomical travesty is Michael Keaton with a fake gun. 

Johnny wonders if Ten sees it too, but the man seems to be preoccupied with his thoughts, hand glued to his mouth as he ponders on something. What did Yuta tell him? Why is Yuta even here?

“I need to talk to you,” comes from his left, and he grits his teeth, looking straight ahead of him.

Mark huffs upon being ignored and tugs at his sleeve slightly, immediately letting go as if he doesn’t want to get a werewolf on him. What a fucking hypocrite. 

“I want to see it through to the end,” Johnny whispers at him.

“It’s important, you imbecile.”

“Yeah, cause _that’s_ gonna convince me.”

“ _Johnny._ ”

What settles it in the end is Taeil’s glare as he turns to them sharply, throwing daggers with his eyes. Ten isn’t even paying attention to them, glued to the glass, but Johnny knows that eventually he can snap too. He resists the urge to roll his eyes and storms out of the room, not even checking if Mark is following him. That bitch is always somewhere at the edge of Johnny’s existence, waiting for a perfect opportunity to jump in and annoy him, so why bother.

He leans on the wall opposite of the interrogation room, his gaze catching on the iron net in the small window. Taeyong isn’t visible from here but Johnny can see Namjoon’s shadow cast on the wall behind their prisoner.

Mark looks agitated, but then again, he’s always in various states of being a mess, and Johnny isn’t exactly an objective viewer when it comes to him. 

“This better be important,” Johnny stresses, arms crossed on his chest.

“Yeah, like that interrogation is useful,” Mark mumbles, running his fingers through his hair. What a mess. “So.”

He huffs, avoiding looking at Johnny, his eyes jumping in wild circles.

“So?”

“You know how Yuta can put people in trances?” Mark starts curtly, rubbing his lips. “Meditation and recollection stuff.”

Johnny frowns, recalling hearing about this particular skills of Yuta’s. He never used it himself, even though there’s been a recurring dream that keeps bothering him, but Ten says Yuta is good with psychic shit.

“What about it?”

“Well, I used it once,” Mark confesses, almost as if against his own will. “I tried to repress a memory because it was affecting my judgement.”

Johnny briefly wonders what it could be, but some selfish part of him somehow knows the answer will include his own person, so he stays silent, allowing Mark to continue.

“Yuta said he can’t erase it or block it completely, but he promised to help me dull its effects,” Mark explains, still looking like he’s prying the words from his tongue with iron pliers. “He asked me if I had special mental conditions that would affect the trance, and I… Well, I said no.”

“So you lied,” Johnny guesses, staring at him without blinking. “Nice move, dumbass.”

Mark throws his hands up as if to grab Johnny’s throat but quickly gets a grip on himself, balling them up in fists.

“I didn’t think _that_ would affect my _mental_ state,” he explains through gritted teeth. “And it’s not the information I can give out to every other person, you know that even better than me.”

Johnny pokes his cheek with his tongue, reluctant to admit Mark’s right. There’s a reason neither his or Mark’s full profile are accessible to everyone, and if he was in Mark’s place, he’d also think twice before telling Yuta what type of family he belongs to. Hell, even Ten doesn’t know, and it’s not for the lack of trying. 

“Fine, what happened in the trance?”

Mark bites his lower lip so hard it cracks. He quickly licks the drop of blood with his tongue and takes a shaky breath.

“We went in,” he recalls. “I asked him beforehand not to look in on the memory itself, and he agreed, but halfway through I realized someone else was there. At first, I assumed it was Yuta after all, but then I saw a guy I didn’t know. I freaked out, went back to reality, and asked Yuta about him. He called me out on my bullshit and asked why I didn’t warn him about the extent of my magic center. Turns out, my mind sucked Yuta’s own repressed memories in as energy.”

Johnny whistles under his breath. “So you’re a good sucker.”

Mark makes a face at him, scrunching his nose up. “Very funny. Anyway, he said that guy was someone from his past whom he loved very much, but didn’t elaborate. Asked me to forget the whole thing and find another way to deal with my emotions.”

Johnny waits for him to conclude his story, but he just stands there, clutching his elbows and looking at Johnny in that demonic puppy way that always gets Johnny in trouble.

“Well? What’s the moral of the story?”

“That guy,” Mark stresses, his eyes almost glowing, “was Taeyong.”

First thing Johnny feels is surprise. He pushes away from the wall and leans over Mark to look into his face and confirm that Mark is just bullshitting him, but Mark looks dead serious and slightly uncomfortable. Then it dawns on Johnny that it actually makes sense.

“Huh,” he breathes out, mind reeling. “What a plot twist. Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Because I didn’t realize it until I saw them both in one room,” Mark grits out. “I thought Taeyong looked vaguely familiar when we first met him, but that thing with Yuta happened like five years ago and I only saw Taeyong’s face in my memory for a few seconds.”

Johnny walks over to the interrogation room, peeking into the window and catching Taeyong’s indifferent face. He seems disoriented and standoffish, curled in on himself, arms drawn back at an uncomfortable angle.

Is it possible this is just a big coincidence? Or is there something bigger at play?

“What does it all mean, Johnny?” Mark calls out in a puny voice, almost vulnerable. It’s no surprise. Mark is a walking solution to any equation, and he hates it when he’s faced with a problem he can’t resolve by grinding the coding for a few hours.

“It means,” Johnny sighs, facing him again, “that we got ourselves into a huge fucking mess. Taeyong said something about eight hundred years. If he goes back that much with Yuta, who knows what else he’s hiding.”

They stay there for another minute, each contemplating the new information and trying to decide what to do with it now. He has to tell Ten, he knows he has to, but the leader already seems shaken up by the events of the past hour. Fuck knows how he’ll react.

“Let’s go back inside for now,” Johnny decrees eventually. “We’ll talk to Ten after this is over.”

“I hope his head doesn’t explode,” Mark murmurs, going for the door handle.

Johnny stops him, lightly touching his wrist. Mark expectedly pulls it away, but at least he doesn’t look like he stepped in shit, so that’s progress.

“How did you end up handling that memory situation?” He wonders, not even fully aware why. “If it was affecting your judgement?”

Mark looks him up and down with pure distaste written all over his face as he meets Johnny’s eyes.

“Try and guess, smarty pants.”

He dives inside the room then, leaving Johnny to stare into space and wonder for what must be a thousandth time why he keeps tolerating that little shit.

_///_

The interrogation ends in twenty minutes when it becomes obvious Namjoon won’t get anything out of Taeyong that wasn’t already said by him or Ten. All in all, it turns out to be a massive waste of everyone’s time, but to Johnny’s surprise, Ten seems to be the only one actively wondering why it was so. 

“So Yuta was that official we’ve been waiting for?” Is the first thing he asks Namjoon when the agents take Taeyong back to his cell and the witch comes back to the adjoining room. “That was fucking useless.”

Namjoon tiredly throws his folder on the table and looks up at Ten like he’s gearing up to go to battle. Johnny has to give it to him — the guy held on for much longer than people usually do when annoyed by Ten. He sees Mark subtly walk over to the table with the folder and stands by Ten’s side, distracting Namjoon and making sure he isn’t looking behind him. 

“In this case, I don’t know any more than you do,” Namjoon explains patiently. “I was told to abide by the orders of the incoming agent until the head of the Seoul department comes back on duty.”

“Which will be when?”

“Presumably, the agents will start coming back on Monday, but the festival won’t end until Sunday, so who knows.”

Ten looks like a bull before a red flag. Johnny won’t be surprised if he starts stomping his foot soon. Mark, in the meantime, opens the folder as quietly as possible, skimming through the pages. Johnny sees Taeil watch it all with a slightly amused expression and slip out of the room, undoubtedly to catch up with Taeyong. He suddenly realizes Jaehyun left the room at some point too and wonders how the hell didn’t he notice that. 

A sudden idea comes to him then, and he carefully melts away into the shadows, using Namjoon being distracted with dodging Ten’s relentless questions. He gives a signal to Mark to keep the witch occupied and leaves the room, leaving the door slightly ajar to avoid attracting attention by the click of the lock. 

The path to the basement cuts through the entire facility, so by the time he finally gets to the holding area, Taeyong is long back in his cell. Johnny met the agents who escorted him half the building away from here, so it’s entirely possible someone already came to visit him. Maybe, a certain Japanese witch that just can’t take a request to fuck off. 

He hears voices even before he turns the corner, which is weird, because if Yuta was talking with Taeyong, it wouldn’t be audible from behind two plastic walls. He hangs back, pressing himself to the wall and thanking the evolution for his enhanced hearing. He celebrates too early. As soon as he tunes into the conversation, he realizes it’s entirely in Japanese. Oh what the hell. Tim was right when he said Johnny should pick up a second foreign language instead of that useless English Literature elective. 

The more he listens, the more he realizes Yuta isn’t here. It’s hard to determine if he knows the others, what with the foreign language and all, but after a while, he pinpoints Sicheng’s unmistakable lazy drawl. Johnny can almost see him sneering. If Sicheng is here… Taeil. When it crosses Johnny’s mind, it becomes obvious. He searches for Jaehyun’s tone, his eyes closed in concentration, but the man isn’t here. Instead, there are two more people he doesn’t recognize.

He’s so focused on the conversation that he almost misses the sound of steps descending the staircase. His heart jumps to his throat as he looks around for a place to hide. If he comes out now, they’ll figure out he was eavesdropping pretty quickly, so he dashes for a dip between two columns that securely wraps him in darkness and covers him from view. Instead, it finally provides him a good angle to see the conversing group. 

He was right in guessing he didn’t know the two other people, but something about their demeanor — cutting gestures and expressive faces — reminds him of Ten’s meeting with two weird agents. 

The person who startled him finally reaches the corridor, speeding past his hiding spot, blissfully unaware Johnny’s here. He instantly places the black robe and white hair and wonders why the fuck is Namjoon coming down here after just finishing his interrogation with Taeyong. 

“The fuck are you doing out here?” Namjoon seethes in Korean, joining the four people. At least Johnny speaks _that one_. “What about this powwow says ‘covert and undercover’? Seokjin-ah, I hoped you’d be professional, at least.”

“Sorry, hyung,” the tall man says with a sheepish smile that doesn’t really convey guilt. “We didn’t think someone would be here.”

“Relax,” Taeil sighs. “I initiated the conversation. Thought I needed to tell them about the Yuta development.”

Taeil isn’t using Korean honorifics, Johnny files away. It’s then that he realizes that he didn’t hear Anteros use those at all, even if they only spoke in English. This feels important, but he chooses to dwell on that later. 

“We could use him, hyung,” another man says, and Johnny guesses that by elimination that’s Hoseok. 

“I’d like to see you propose that to Taeyong,” Namjoon grunts. “He hates the guy.”

“For a good reason,” Sicheng clicks his tongue. “The guy’s a douchebag.”

Namjoon groans and rubs his face as if he can set his thoughts straight if he shakes them well enough. “Disperse. We don’t need to attract too much attention, I’m already this close to locking that Ten in a basement and just dealing with the consequences.”

Johnny feels instant dread fill up his veins, his protective instincts kicking in. If this guy means Ten harm, then…

“Taeyong will kill _you_ then,” Taeil says, preventing Johnny from doing something stupid. “You did good, by the way.”

Namjoon waves it off, and it acts like a signal to finish the whole thing. They start filling out one by one, leaving the corridor empty and Johnny even more confused than he was before coming down here. Sicheng leaves last, hanging back until the retreating steps are heard in only a faint echo. He walks slowly toward the exit, and something about it makes the hair on Johnny’s arms stand out. Sicheng seems to almost dance through the air, moving excruciatingly slowly, and stopping when he passes Johnny and reaches the corner he was hiding behind. He touches the wall Johnny was pressed to a few minutes earlier, stroking the stone with his fingers, a mysterious smile playing on his lips. 

“The key to good eavesdropping,” he murmurs under his breath, “is not getting caught.”

Johnny still hears him. Blood freezes in his veins as he waits for Sicheng to turn around and confront him. He tries to come up with a viable excuse, but his head is empty, only a ringing silence in his ears as the fear ignites his instincts. 

But Sicheng simply chuckles to himself and leaves, skipping two steps at a time. It’s when Johnny sees his almost ghostly figure disappear upstairs that he realizes what seemed weird about the way he walked. 

Sicheng’s steps are soundless. 

5

**December 3, 1998, 10:14**

_Shanghai, China_

**DETECTIVE XIO** : When did you first have an encounter with Stephen Lott?

 _DONG SI CHENG:_ Technically, six years ago. He killed my mother.

 **X.:** And after that?

 _D.S.:_ Two weeks ago. I was sitting in on a court hearing for my criminal law class and realized the defendant was the man I’ve been looking for ever since he murdered my mom.

 **X.:** And?

 _D.S.:_ And? I’m not doing your job for you, detective.

 **X.:** Stephen Lott was released on bail a week ago. Yesterday, he was found dead in his apartment, a hunting knife of his own possession in his neck. 

_D.S.:_ What a pity. 

**X.:** You don’t seem too surprised. 

_D.S.:_ Can we stop fucking around? I was literally arrested, I know why I’m here, of course I’m not surprised. 

**X.:** Where were you yesterday around eleven in the evening?

 _D.S.:_ I believe this is the point where I say I’m not saying anything without a lawyer present. What was it? The department will present me with one?

 **X.:** It already did. He’s on his way here, took your case voluntarily. 

_D.S.:_ Cool. What’s his name, at least?

 **X.:** Kim Namjoon. 

_///_

PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA : HIGH PEOPLE’S COURT : SHANGHAI DEPARTMENT OF TRANSATLANTIC OPERATIVE UNION OF CREATURES AND HUMANS

**TOUCH,**

_PLAINTIFF,_

_vs._

**SI CHENG DONG**

_DEFENDANT._

**APPEARANCES**

JEREMY FAI WONG. Special Prosecutor. On behalf of TOUCH.

QING WEN. Special Prosecutor. On behalf of TOUCH.

NAM JOON KIM. Attorney at Law. On behalf of the Defendant. 

MARK YI-EN TUAN. Attorney at Law. On behalf of the Defendant. 

SI CHENG DONG. Defendant. Appeared in person. 

**TRANSCRIPT OF PROCEEDINGS**

_Witness Examination Extract_

**THE COURT** : At this time the prosecutors may call their next witness.

 **ATTORNEY WONG** : Prosecution will call Lee Taeyong, your Honor.

 **THE CLERK** : Please raise your right hand.

 **TAE YONG LEE:** , called as a witness herein, having been first duly sworn, was examined and testified as follows:

**DIRECT EXAMINATION**

BY ATTORNEY WONG:

 _Q._ Good day, Mr. Lee. Let us begin with a simple introduction. You were in TOUCH employment, uh, until January 1st, 1996. 

**A.** That’s correct. I handed in my resignation on Christmas Day and officially left the agency effective January 1st.

 _Q._ Explain your role in the Dong Chunhua murder case.

 **ATTORNEY KIM** : Objection. Relevance.

 **ATTORNEY WONG** : Your Honor, the relevance will become obvious in establishing the motive of the crime.

 **THE COURT** : Overruled. Answer the question, Mr. Lee.

 **A.** I was the leading investigator on that case.

 _Q._ Is that where you met the defendant?

 **A.** That’s correct. He was the son of the victim. 

_Q._ What was your first impression of him? 

**A.** Strong. It’s not every day you meet a fifteen-year-old who just witnessed a brutal murder of his mother and managed to hang on a thin ledge for six hours in freezing cold.

 _Q._ Impressive, yes. What was your evaluation of the defendant’s mental state? 

**A.** I was an operative agent, not a psychotherapist. 

_Q._ I’m inquiring about your personal opinion. You have served for quite some time, and not only in TOUCH. Before that, you fought in the Great War. 

**A.** I didn’t, though, not quite, and you are perfectly aware of that, Mr. Wong.

 _Q._ Fine, let’s disregard that tricky aspect. Still, you’ve been an operative for a long time and witnessed a lot. Surely, you have developed a certain perception of victims. 

**A.** Let me put it like that — considering the circumstances, Sicheng expressed a surprising presence of clear mind. He held his own in light of the trauma he overcame.

 _Q._ Yes, he showed the same level of mental stability upon his arrest. Which begs the question — what kind of person can go through what the defendant did and stay sane, and then murder...

 **ATTORNEY KIM** : Allegedly.

 **A.** _Allegedly_ murder a man and still not bat an eye during his mental evaluation. 

_Q._ As I have already mentioned, I am not a medical expert.

 **A.** I’ll answer for you. A sociopath.

 **ATTORNEY KIM** : Objection, Your Honor. My client went through the preliminary medical evaluation and was declared sane of mind.

 **THE COURT** : Sustained. Mr. Wong, I urge you to proceed with the questioning without speculations.

 _Q._ Of course, Your Honor. Mr. Lee, the case was never closed, was it? 

**A.** No. Every lead we had resulted in dead end, and by the time the killer surfaced again, I was no longer under the jurisdiction to investigate it. I was a consulting agent, though, as you can see in the files undoubtedly attached to this case.

 _Q._ What happened then? 

**A.** The case went to pending. This courtroom is filled with agents, so I assume everybody here knows it means that it was declared a cold case and pushed into the farthest corner. 

_Q._ You seem disgruntled by that.

 **A.** If you were an agent, Jeremy, you would react the same. We aren’t trained to lose. 

_Q._ I see. And what happened with Sicheng then?

 **A.** He escaped his hospital room and disappeared. 

_Q._ Have you ever tried to find him? 

**A.** Yes. 

_Q._ Your TOUCH profile shows that you were dispatched a few times to fetch the defendant when he surfaced. Were you volunteering for those assignments? 

**A.** Yes and no. Sicheng was a witness in my case so I had an obligation to contact him regarding the process of the case, but once the case went cold I didn’t have to be the one finding him. 

_Q._ Why not? He was underage at the time and traveling without any identification or legal means.

 **A.** Once again, I’m an agent, not a babysitter. It wasn’t my duty to track down every runaway teenager. 

_Q._ Were you ever aware of the defendant’s intentions?

 **A.** I don’t understand your question. 

_Q._ The defendant was seeking revenge on his mother’s killer. 

**ATTORNEY KIM:** Objection, hearsay. 

**THE COURT:** Sustained. Mr. Wong, stick to the facts.

 **Q.** Of course, Your Honor. Have the defendant ever, in any way, expressed to you his desire to find the man who killed his mother and do them harm? 

_A._ The last time I spoke to Sicheng was the morning of his escape. Today is the first time I’ve seen him in person since. 

_Q._ _In person._ Were you in contact otherwise?

 **A.** You know I was, why sugarcoat it? Is being a smartass an elective in Law School?

 **SI CHENG DONG:** Yes, actually. Fun lectures. 

**THE COURT:** Defendant, I advise you not to interrupt the questioning, or I will have to hold you in contempt.

 **SI CHENG DONG:** Sorry, Your Honor, shutting up now.

 _Q._ The prosecution presents to the court the letters the defendant wrote to the witness throughout the years of his so-called travels.

 **ATTORNEY KIM:** Objection, Your Honor, these letters weren’t presented to the defense in the case files. 

**ATTORNEY WONG:** Apologies, Your Honor, but the prosecution mailed them to the defense this morning at 9:59 A.M.

 **ATTORNEY KIM:** A minute before this hearing started? Convenient.

 **THE COURT:** I decree that the letters will be presented to court but not included in the final resolution of today’s hearing. 

_Q._ We can see that this is a one-sided correspondence between the defendant and the witness. In these letters, the defendant states more than once that, I quote, he will get him. The last letter mentions the defendant having, I quote, a plan that he is reluctant to share with Mr. Lee. This was mailed before the defendant applied to the TOUCH Academy. Quite ironically, to its Law School. 

**A.** I am curious about how you got these letters, Mr. Wong. They were in my private possession and never copied.

 **THE COURT:** Mr. Wong, how did the prosecution come to be in possession of these papers? I will not stand for you presenting evidence you procured illegally.

 **AGENT WONG:** I received them in the mail late last night, Your Honor. I will gladly provide the court with the envelope they came in if it helps in determining their origin.

 **THE COURT:** You’re on thin ice, Mr. Wong. Mr. Lee, can you confirm the legitimacy of the letters? Remember, you’re under oath.

 **TAE YONG LEE:** Yes, Your Honor, these _copies_ are real.

 **THE COURT:** Proceed with the questioning, Mr. Wong.

 _Q._ Did you know what Sicheng meant with his remarks?

 **A.** I had my guesses. 

_Q._ Weren’t you ever alerted about his intentions?

 **A.** He was sixteen and emotional, fresh after undergoing a severe trauma. Who isn’t dramatic when they’re that age?

 _Q._ I’m afraid that this is a case of something far more serious than just being dramatic. We are here today precisely because the defendant went through with his threats and murdered— Calm down, Mr. Kim, I’ll rephrase— _allegedly_ murdered Stephen Lott, the man who was proved to be the Huli Jing Killer.

 **A.** Where is a question for me in there?

 _Q._ Why haven’t you tried to prevent the defendant from carrying out the goal he described in his letters?

 **A.** I have. I have never stopped looking for him. He’s just that good at hiding. By the time the system registered him as he entered the Academy, I was no longer in employment and had no way of procuring that information. You should be questioning the agents who are still working at the Tokyo department. 

_Q._ True, but here is the funny thing. There was no alert in the system because there wasn’t a request for one. Dong Sicheng was removed from the wanted list when he turned eighteen.

 **A.** That wasn’t a wanted list, it was a ‘Lookout’ one, and that one is actually under the jurisdiction of Family and Child Services, so I don’t see why I’m the one questioned about it. 

_Q._ Why have you— 

**A.** I have a question for you, actually. Your Honor, it directly relates to the case at hand, I promise. 

**THE COURT:** I will allow it but I reserve the right to strike it from the record if it is irrelevant.

 **TAE YONG LEE:** I feel the court and the jury have to know that this isn’t the first time Mr. Wong and I meet. In fact, Mr. Wong used to serve under the Tokyo department around thirty years ago. Back then, he was just a kid from legal, and I consulted with him on a few cases of mine. We were quite close at the time. In fact, I think it is imperative of me to report that we were in a sexual relationship. It ended quite abruptly on my initiative, which resulted in Mr. Wong going on a revenge hunt and trying to find even a single mistake in my work. He never did, because, let me say, I literally wrote a book on being a TOUCH agent, and so he requested a transfer. I never knew where he went, because I don’t believe in stalking your exes, but I fear that Mr. Wong never really got over his grudge. So it leads me to doubt his intentions in this questioning now, as it seems he’s trying to catch _me_ in negligence rather than do what he’s supposed to, as in build his case against the defendant.

 **ATTORNEY WONG:** I assure the court that any past relationships I may have had with the witness have nothing to do with the case at hand.

 **ATTORNEY KIM:** I would like the record to show that the defense advised against putting Mr. Lee on the stand as we were aware of that relationship and feared it would cloud the prosecution’s judgment.

 **THE COURT:** Mr. Lee, I thank you for your candor. The prosecution has informed me Mr. Wong has worked with you in the past yet neglected to mention the true extent of the relationship. I will not decree for your testimony to be disregarded, but urge Mr. Wong to keep his line of questioning strictly on the case at hand rather than the alleged shortcomings of Mr. Lee as an agent of TOUCH, otherwise I will have no choice but to strike your testimony from record based on prosecutorial bias. 

_Q._ Of course, Your Honor, I only have one question left anyway. Mr. Lee, based on your contact with the defendant and your experience as one of the best TOUCH agents to date, would you say that the defendant, under the right circumstances, is capable of murder in the name of vengeance? 

**A.** I— 

_Q._ It’s a simple question, Mr. Lee. Remember that you’re under oath. Yes or no?

 **A.** Yes. 

_Q._ No further questions. Defense, your witness. 

**ATTORNEY KIM:** Your honor, we would like to request a recess. 

**THE COURT:** Granted. We will resume in 15 minutes. I remind the jury not to discuss the details of this case outside the courtroom. 

_///_

Taeyong doesn’t look any different from when they first met, but there’s a haunted look to him that wasn’t there before. Namjoon groans when he sees Taeyong approaching them, but Sicheng just shakes his head, anticipation pooling in his stomach. 

“I’m sorry,” Taeyong breathes out without a greeting as soon as they’re face to face. “I tried to dodge him as well as I could but the asshole always knew how to get under my skin.”

“He’s a good prosecutor,” Sicheng drawls, pursing his lips. “And you were under oath.”

Contempt flashes in Taeyong’s eyes. Sicheng guesses where he would like to shove that oath. Namjoon clears his throat, drumming his fingers on the case file. 

“It’s unethical for you to be seen together right now,” he mumbles under his breath, careful of Wong and his werewolf senses. “Especially after the jury getting a preview of your particular brand of friendship.”

Taeyong sneers and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, his jaw standing out sharply. Sicheng finds he can’t look away from him, the image he built in his head over the years overlaying the real man. 

Taeyong became something of an idol for him. Wong can boast about Sicheng’s sociopathic tendencies all he wants in that courtroom, but it’s not his fault he has a good grip on his emotions, which he has in plenty, thank you very much. Cutting off the world was the necessity he had to reserve to in order to stay on course, but he could never deny the obvious haunting truth — he was fucking lonely. Writing those letters and leaving Taeyong little presents was the only thread he still allowed himself to the outside world, and against both of their wills, Taeyong became his closest friend in the world. Perhaps because he was the only person even eligible for a semblance of the title. 

Remembering that someone is still out there, knowing at least a part of the real him and still searching for him, wanting to find him, helped him stay sane during the lonely nights when he had to sleep under bridges and in basements, survive on scrapes and travel hundreds of miles at a time without a rest. The image of Taeyong, or at least the one Sicheng painted for himself, was what allowed him to turn back human when his magic center was so tired of running it begged for him to stay in the fox form. 

It became easier once he got into the Academy. It’s still funny how they allowed him inside. He always suspected Taeyong had something to do with that, because alerts about underage runaways don’t just simply _disappear_ , but he never had any way of confirming it. Contacting Taeyong was dangerous, not when Sicheng was so close to his goal.

He tracked Lott all over the world, always one step behind. It wasn’t easy, especially at first, when he was motivated by his rage and desire to _destroy_ , but a few close calls with the police taught him to pace himself. He met a lot of people. Some of them— most of them— were bad, the ones out to get him and snatch a piece of his youthful magic, monsters of this world hiding behind masks of benefactors and do-gooders. Those were dark times. They did things to his body and mind that would land him in therapy for the rest of his life if the circumstances were different. In reality, he had to take every ugly thing done to him and bury it deep inside, hoping that when it rots and festers there, the defenses he’s built will be strong enough not to let it sizzle through the cracks.

There were good people too, even if he believed at some point that the phantom of Taeyong he’s been carrying around in his heart was the only kind man left on the planet. He met others like him — runners with a purpose, be it a vengeful or blessed one. They taught him things. How to survive, how to cross borders without being noticed, and most importantly — how to fight. He never had much to his name, but they showed him how he can use what little the evolution had granted him with to his benefit and for his protection.

It was all a big crusade in his search for Lott. He caught up to him in Bulgaria once, arrogant and foolish enough to believe he can outsmart a deranged serial killer, and that was his mistake. He showed his hand too early and was no longer a shadow. Lott knew about him now, and ever since then became even more evasive and careful. Two years ago, their chase led them to Shanghai. Sicheng lost wind of him then, to his utter dismay and a small nervous breakdown, but something deep inside — the animal beginning that still carried the memories of his mother’s dying howl — knew that this is where it all ends, one way or another. So he stuck around, so close to his home, so far away from his peace of mind. 

He got into Law School, led by hunches and masterful cheating. Making friends was easy enough. Despite his nomadic way of life, he was always a good liar, and he knew a simple yet subtle truth about the world — people _want_ to be fooled and misled, lulled into a false sense of security that promises them those nice movie things like rainbow friendships and vanilla love stories. Not one of his acquaintances meant a thing to Sicheng, yet they all considered him their best friend. The only one he ever cared about, in his own twisted and misguided way, was the man he himself always called a liar. Traveling the world on his wild hunt showed him that Taeyong was, in truth, the most honest person he’s known, but the nickname stuck, and he’s kept using it in fear of losing that distorted and stagnated perception of Lee Taeyong. 

And now he’s here, before Sicheng, worrying his lip and looking as if he’s the one on trial for murder. 

“Thank you,” he says, surprising himself, the unfamiliar warm feeling uncomfortable in his stomach. “For not selling me out. You could’ve easily traced those letters.”

Taeyong’s brow furrows as he looks into Sicheng’s eyes, his fingers twitching as if he wants to reach out but cannot afford to. 

“I know a thing or two about personal crusades,” he murmurs finally. “And in all honesty? I would’ve done the same thing as you. The only thing that always worried me was how young you are.”

“I’m fine, liar,” Sicheng chuckles, settling back into the familiar pattern to escape the foreign sensation of empathy toward Taeyong. “But I don’t like that Wong knows you. He might be hoping to kill two birds with one stone and get us both convicted.”

Amusement plays on Taeyong’s lips, a secret Sicheng finds himself desperately wanting to know. Taeyong looks sure of his safety and position, and there is something more to it than his honorary status of the oldest agent in TOUCH. He has more than a few aces up his sleeve, and Sicheng imagines for a shattered fraction of a second what it would be like to be one of those. What if he never run away? What if he stuck around to know Taeyong better, become his friend and someone he could trust in the same inexplicable way Sicheng trusts him?

“I’ll be okay, Sicheng,” Taeyong assures him gently. “If I’m meant to fall, it is not by the hand of Jeremy Wong.”

“Speak of the devil,” Namjoon murmurs, looking behind Taeyong.

Wong is on the other end of the corridor, leaning against the window and speaking to his assistant prosecutor. Sicheng wonders if she feels for him. He can sense that she’s another huli jing, and he _knows_ miss Wen mentally thanked him for ridding the world of the monster who was going after their kin. She can’t say it out loud, of course, her job is to get him convicted, but he caught her sad eyes on himself more than once. She gets it.

“It’s unethical, Jeremy,” Taeyong whispers, knowing Wong will hear them. It’s obvious he’s not really talking to Wen Qing, simply pretending in favor of tuning in on their conversation. “I can get your ass sacked and disbarred if you don’t cut it out.”

It works, surprisingly. Wong bares his teeth and pushes away from the window, disappearing behind a corner and back into the courtroom.

“I can’t stand werewolves,” Sicheng decrees with a curl of his lips. “Noisy dogs.”

“As your lawyer, I advise you to refrain from racist remarks,” Namjoon seethes.

Sicheng rolls his eyes. “I’m just kidding. Hope that bitch heard me. Who I really hate are humans.”

“That’s still racist,” Namjoon notes, but there’s much less distaste in his voice now.

“Is that why you killed one?” Comes from their left.

A woman comes out from behind the column, a notepad in hand, a pen tucked with a strand of hair behind her ear. Sicheng sizes her up, noting how hungry her eyes are.

“And you are?” Namjoon demands, covering Sicheng from view. “Journalists aren’t allowed inside the courthouse.”

“I’m off-duty,” she hums with a sweet smile. “Just general curiosity.”

“I advise you to turn around and keep walking until you’re out of here,” Taeyong says lowly.

Something in his voice sets off a primal instinct to cower in Sicheng, and he turns around to check what was it that triggered it. Taeyong’s eyes are glowing with gold but that’s not the weirdest thing. His whole face seems to have elongated, the edges of his already sharp bone structure cut into the air like an ice sculpture, his lips curled back dangerously. Sicheng knows he’s staring, but he can’t look away for some reason, enthralled with the magnificent energy of the creature before him. Taeyong may seem soft and pliant at times, but it’s now that it dawns on Sicheng why he was so drawn to this person — the power hiding under his skin.

Taeyong said he would do the same thing Sicheng is accused of. It seemed like generic words of comfort at the time, but now Sicheng actually sees it. Taeyong is more than capable of murder. He wasn’t just placating. He was speaking from experience. It’s fascinating.

He gets so consumed by this sudden revelation he doesn’t notice the girl is gone now and Taeyong’s features are back to normal. His eyes are the usual melted brown, that kindness and compassion Sicheng noted in them all those years ago back again.

“Write to me when I’m in prison,” he blurts out. “You’ll finally know the return address.”

Taeyong’s hand flies up to his chest, and only now Sicheng notices a familiar necklace entangled in the disarray of jewelry. His birthday gift to Taeyong. He only ever made one, and not for the lack of desire.

“I’m getting you acquitted,” Namjoon contradicts. “We’re putting Taeyong on the stand and getting his testimony to make the jury cry from compassion.”

Sicheng shakes his head, corners of his lips tugging down. “I want to plead guilty.”

A gasp escapes Taeyong’s lips and he leans forward to undoubtedly convince Sicheng to reconsider, but he just shakes his head.

“You’re the liar here,” he says. “I’m going to tell the truth.”

Namjoon rubs his lips vigorously, his eyes running wildly as he tries to find a proper argument, but Sicheng is looking at Taeyong, moisture in the fairy’s eyes glinting in the light. Taeyong takes a shaky breath, trying to hold the tears back.

“It’s all my fault.”

“Nah.” Sicheng chuckles. “You said it yourself. You weren’t my babysitter. The only one at fault here is Lott, and I made sure he doesn’t ruin anyone’s life ever again. And that’s exactly what I will go to jail for. Ironic.”

Namjoon’s associate, Mark, comes up then, reminding them the court is about to resume. Namjoon briefs him on the new development, and they start discussing something rapidly. Probably figuring out how to get Sicheng the best plea deal.

“I’ll come for you,” Taeyong vows, mouth set. “When you get out, or even earlier. I’ll find a way.”

Sicheng feels that same warmth come back again, coating his insides in an invisible glow of affection. It’s peculiar. He’s never loved anyone apart from his mother. The closest thing to that was his attachment to Taeyong’s ghost in his head, and some part of him always feared that it won’t feel the same should they ever meet. 

He was right. It doesn’t feel the same. It feels better.

“I’ll be waiting,” he whispers, choking up.

Fuck the spectators, fuck the proceedings and ethics. He surges forward and wraps his hands around Taeyong’s waist. He’s smaller than Sicheng, but it still feels natural to tuck his head between Taeyong’s neck and shoulder. Taeyong retaliates immediately, holding him so tightly that Sicheng, for the first time since forever, allows himself to relax and melt into the embrace. He hates people touching him. Hugging Taeyong feels amazing. After years of wandering, he finds that this man’s arms feel like a home he never had. Like a brother he never knew he needed.

“Sicheng, we have to go now,” Namjoon says regretfully. “We need to discuss your new deal with the prosecution and inform the judge.”

He pulls away reluctantly, dutifully letting Taeyong pet his hair with a reserved smile. 

“I’ll see you on the other side,” Taeyong whispers.

Sicheng doesn’t say anything else. The words are meaningless, truly, and sometimes silence is much more telling. He nods and steps away, following Namjoon and only turning around when they’re near the prosecution chambers, searching for Taeyong in the crowd. He’s nowhere to be seen, but somehow, Sicheng still feels his comforting presence at the back of his mind. 

_Goodbye, liar._

5

**May 27, 2019, 14:20**

_Seoul, South Korea_

_TOUCH HQ_

Ten asks Johnny to wake the others up for the team meeting. It’s not that he’s reluctant to pull his leader weight, choosing to dump the less pleasant responsibilities on his second in command. It’s just that anybody who ever tried to awaken a night creature in the middle of the day prays not to draw the short straw the next time the need arises. Besides, there’s less moral damage when it’s Johnny. Hendery idolizes him, Yangyang does whatever Hendery does, and Mark already hates him, so it’s a spectacular win-win-win scenario. 

He waits for them in the living room, fidgeting on the couch. Mark already checked for bugs, and Ten would be an idiot if he didn’t trust his technological abilities, but he’s still jittery about someone potentially listening in on them. He bites his thumb as he turns Johnny’s story over in his head, the one that actually prompted him to call for a team meeting.

So Namjoon not only knows Seokjin and Hoseok but also gives commands to Taeil and Sicheng. _Which they obey._ Ten wouldn’t believe Sicheng out of all people listens to anyone if Johnny didn’t tell him what he witnessed. There was something nervous about Johnny when he recounted all of that, but he didn’t say what got him so spooked. Ten considered pushing but then realized that he’s already been a pain in the ass of his team and laid off. Johnny would report everything if it meant imminent danger. 

On top of that, Mark finished his little hacking mojo and did, after all, find a file transferred to Kim Namjoon from the Tokyo department, containing all information regarding one Lee Taeyong, a long-standing agent of TOUCH. Ten was close to passing out when he read that email, and then almost got an aneurysm when they decrypted the file and saw that there was nothing but a single snapshot of Taeyong that looked like it was taken at some point in the fifties. Ten doesn’t know a lot about the guy yet, but he is becoming surer of the fact Taeyong will definitely give him a near-lethal medical condition at the rate they’re going. 

What are they in the middle of? What does it mean that Namjoon has more influence that he lets on? There’s already been so many coincidences. Should Ten pack up and haul ass? It’s going to be difficult now, seeing as there are more and more agents trickling back into the facility with each passing hour. The head of the department still isn’t scheduled to return to his post for another few days, but there’s already too many watchful eyes making Ten wary and paranoid. 

He hears a thump from the nighties’ room and snaps his head toward the closed door, hearing Mark’s muffled cursing. A second later, Johnny comes out of the room, a slash across his arm that’s already rapidly healing. Ten frowns at it. He’s witnessed Johnny’s regeneration factor working more times than he could count, and it’s freaking _fast_ , but this scratch almost seems reluctant to heal. He shakes his head. The stress is getting the best of him.

“They’re awake,” Johnny informs him in a polite British-butler voice.

“Are they alive?” Ten wonders doubtfully.

“Barely,” Yangyang tells him, coming out of the room, a lethargic Hendery plastered to his back. Yangyang drags him to the couch and drops him there. Ten looks down on his blissfully snoring mug and suppresses a smile.

Mark emerges next, his bed hair even a bigger mess than it usually is, his eyes throwing bolts of lighting around as he sneers at Johnny. “You didn’t have to throw me off the bed.”

“I’d use soft forehead kisses, but something tells me you’d bite my nose off,” Johnny muses, arms crossed on his chest. The scratch is just pink tissue now. Ten watches Mark stomp past and guesses the origins of that slash.

“Ten, you better have an _amazing_ reason for this,” Mark says, falling face down on another couch. Ten sees Johnny eye him thoughtfully and wonders if Johnny feels tempted to put a pillow on Mark’s head and gently press down. Gods, he really needs to get those two to therapy. 

He chews on his thumb and hisses in pain when the cuticle comes off. He’s going to eat his fingers at this rate, but what’s a guy gotta do when he has all this weird stressful shit happening around him?

“I think there’s a conspiracy going on,” he finally blurts out, holding his breath for a reaction. 

Which doesn’t come. Nobody moves or says anything. It’s so silent he could hear a pin drop. He hears a humming annoying sound coming from Hendery and realizes he’s imitating the _X-Files_ theme. 

“Facts?” Mark inquires, his voice muffled as he’s still actively trying to deactivate his brain with his face in the couch cushion. 

Ten clears his throat and recounts everything, keeping it brief to save them from being bludgeoned with facts but still clear enough to make his case an eligible one. They’re his team, and they would do what they’re told in any case, but he won’t order them to do anything against their will. Ten is a lot of things, some of them bad, but he’s not _that_ kind of leader. Empathy, bitch. 

He tells them everything, rounding up all the testimonies from each of them to fill the others in. What Johnny witnessed, what Hendery and Yangyang found out from blockading Xiaojun, his own suspicions and observations, including his confusing conversations with Anteros, and what Mark found — or rather _didn’t_ find — in the system and the file he sneaked a glance at. 

“So here we are,” he summarizes, his hands pressed together so tightly his skin is about to come off. Which _can literally happen._ “We have a building full of agents we don’t know and can’t trust, the hero of our mess seems to have everyone meant to help us on a short leash, _and_ he seems to be adamant on trusting me for reasons I can’t even begin to fathom but at the same time refuses to tell me anything. I haven’t been able to get in touch with Yuta since he arrived here, but I know he’s somewhere in the building and probably avoiding me, so I suggest we safely assume he’s in on this too and…”

He can’t make himself say it, he realizes, and curses softly under his breath. 

“If we can’t trust Yuta,” Johnny rumbles, “then we’re really fucked.”

Ten meets his eyes grimly. Yuta isn’t just his friend. He’s not exactly Johnny’s bestie, because foxes and wolves don't really match, but they’re still close, just like everyone back at the San Francisco department, because that’s just how they roll there. Trust and comradeship. Ten thinks absently that if it turns out that Kun also has some dark ancient secrets up his sleeve and isn’t who they think he is, Ten’s definitely resigning. 

Mark groans loudly and sits up, his face all scrunched up from various pillows and cushions he’s been pressing it into. He looks murderous, but there’s a look in his eyes that Ten knows all too well from years of having Mark as his left hand and the necessary opposition. He’s about to be called out on his bullshit, and honestly? At this point, he’ll welcome it with open arms. 

“How about you stop fucking around, make a decision, and stick to it?” Mark decrees, raising his eyebrows in his famous ‘I’m a bitch and I’m proud of it’ move. “There are two paths, or three, if I’m being generous.”

“Do enlighten me,” Ten snaps, but it’s more of an instinct. He genuinely wants to hear Mark’s opinion and see if it aligns with his own. Then he’ll know what to do. 

“Option one,” Mark puts a finger up in the air, “we pack up, go home, and report everything we’ve found to the brass. Possible outcome? Taeyong gets executed, Xiaojun gets captured, and the rest of Anteros go back to where they came from, which, by the way, I’m guessing is prison, but don’t quote me on that. Oh, and those supposedly captured children in Jinju get left to their own devices, if they're even real.”

“And the second?” Johnny grits through his teeth. Ten wonders if it rubs him the wrong way because it sounds inhumane as fuck or because he doesn’t want to lose his new friend. Damn, the boy gets attached easily. 

“We do all of the above but don’t report it,” Mark puts another finger up. “That way, the outcome will probably be the same, but we won’t have it on our consciousness. I mean, Ten won’t. I honestly couldn’t care less.”

Only he does care, Ten thinks bitterly. It’s another thing with Mark he keeps bumping into. Mark is desperate to show everyone around him that he doesn’t feel shit and nothing is affecting him, and Ten would perhaps believe it after all the years of knowing him if it wasn’t for something that happened a few years ago on an assignment. 

They were in crisis mode, and Ten’s cover got compromised. He needed to get back into the field ASAP, but they didn’t have time for him to get another voluntary sample to change faces, and the only person available was Mark. Ten reckoned he would resist, but Mark extended his hand willingly, allowing Ten to turn into him. It only lasted for twenty minutes — enough for them to apprehend the target and get the hell outta dodge — and he locked Mark’s memories in a block, but considering the urgency of the situation, he couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of what was going in arguably the most enigmatic mind of the San Francisco department. 

Just a fraction reading, not even big enough to call it that, but he was budgered with a whirlpool of emotions so strong and raw they almost knocked him out. To this day, Ten doesn’t think he’s ever felt something so powerful in his whole life. Mark feels, and he feels deeply, and perhaps this is the exact reason he’s terrified of showing it. He’s not as much protecting himself from others as protecting them from himself. Hurt people hurt people, and Mark Lee had been hurt by someone so deeply he feels like destroying someone in retaliation, but despite all his witty remarks and masterfully played indifference, it’s exactly what he’s fighting tooth and nail to avoid. Because he’s simply not that kind of person. 

“What about the third?” Ten asks tiredly, trying to chase the memory away. He needs to have a clear mind for this. 

Mark purses his lips and shrugs. “We say fuck the brass and help them. You go to Taeyong and say you’re willing to get into whatever the hell is going on. If he believes you, and something tells me he will, he’ll tell the other participants of this _conspiracy_ of yours, and they’ll fill you in. I reckon we’ll get a hell of an adventure before we’re all locked up and/or executed.”

“The theory isn’t solid,” Yangyang suddenly speaks up. “We don’t know for sure there’s something going on.”

“I’m with him on that,” Hendery sighs. “Ten, don’t get me wrong, but you tend to become paranoid.”

Ten squints his eyes at him, instantly annoyed. “You’re the one to talk.”

Hendery drops his eyes, his face falling, and Ten wants to slap himself. He rubs his eyes and draws Hendery closer, hugging his shoulders. 

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I’m just tired. But to put this to rest once and for all, I didn’t sell them out. I was set on going through with the plan. I don’t know who tattled.”

Hendery nods and presses closer, his body relaxing visibly. Ten feels his heart constrict. He promised Kara he’d take care of him, and here he is, adding to the stress the kid is already experiencing. And Yangyang? He’s a fucking trainee, his trial period isn’t going to be up for another five months, and he’s already dragged into the mess that’s bigger than he signed up for. Yeah, maybe Ten _is_ that kind of leader. 

“I might have a theory about the snitch.” Mark clears his throat, throwing a glance at the window, now covered up by thick blinds suitable for sun-sensitive creatures. 

All the eyes are immediately on him, and he slumps more into his hoodie before telling them about the raven that magically helped him get inside the system. Ten’s mind lights up with a realization, and he can practically see his synapses working and connecting the dots. 

“Namjoon had a raven on his shoulder when he arrested us,” he breathes out. “And he’s a witch. Witches have _familiars._ ”

“Not all of them,” Yangyang argues, but he looks doubtful. “Some are born at the same time with their witch, but for others it might take years to manifest.”

“Experienced witches are _always_ with a familiar,” Hendery tilts his head. “Shit, even Donghyuck has Renjun, and he got him at fifteen. We’re talking about a High Council member heading a specialized unit here.”

Johnny violently messes up his hair, almost mad. “So we’ve had a fucking person spying on us all that time and we didn’t even know because we didn’t think to check for freaking _sentient birds_?” He turns to Mark, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “That’s _your_ fault.”

Mark shoots up to his feet, almost throwing himself on Johnny with how fast he gangs up on him. “How the fuck is that on me?”

Ten rises from the couch, ready to throw one of them away, even if he doubts he can overpower either one of them without external help. Shapeshifters are strong, but not against a vampire and a werewolf at the same time.

“You should’ve smelled him or something,” Johnny throws with a snort. “Isn’t that what c—”

Mark cuts him off, grabbing his collar. “You say another word, and it’s gonna be your last,” he growls, angry like Ten has never seen him, and there it is again — the feeling that he’s missing something, desperately trying to pinpoint it but failing miserably. 

Even Johnny looks a little startled, which says a lot. He rarely responds to Mark like that, inevitably choosing fight over flight every time. He really must’ve struck a nerve. 

“Calm _down_ , both of you,” he seethes, pushing Mark away from Johnny and standing between them for good measure. “We possibly have this entire building working against us, I don’t need you bringing your feud into the mix. I need your both on your best behavior, understood?”

Mark doesn’t seem to even hear him, his burning eyes still trained on Johnny. Ten has his hands on both their chests, and the wild contrast between their heartbeats strikes him in a flash — Mark’s is strong and slow even for a vampire, but Johnny’s is stuttering like a hummingbird. 

“ _Mark_ ,” Ten insists loudly. Fuck, he hates raising his voice at them. “I asked you a question.”

There’s a stomach-dropping moment when he thinks he will have to pull rank to get Mark to obey, and he remembers again seeing his emotions and feeling the overbearing weight of them, but just as quickly as the anger started in Mark’s eyes, it leaves them, almost as if washed out. His face smoothes out, and now Ten has a blank robot staring at him, which may be even worse. 

“Understood,” Mark says dully. 

He drops his hand from Mark’s chest and turns to Johnny, bulging his eyes at him. “Well?”

Johnny pushes on his teeth with his tongue and takes a steadying breath, shifting his gaze from Mark to Ten. And there it is, the twinning blankedness. Only Ten can still feel his heart, and it’s hammering. 

“Understood,” Johnny says hoarsely. “It was uncalled for. I’ll refrain from that in the future.”

Surprising maturity for this particular brand of situation, but beggars can’t be choosers, so Ten takes it gratefully, nodding to himself and turning back to the youngster. They look as scared as Johnny’s heart felt just seconds ago. It falls on Ten as he looks over their faces. He’s letting this thing with Johnny and Mark fester, and by neglecting to resolve it, he’s being a bad fucking leader. 

It’s not like he hasn’t tried. Years of trying to talk to them and find out what happened between them, just to understand and try to fix it, because that’s what he’s supposed to do as the leader. Johnny just insisted that it started with Mark and he didn’t know what he could possibly do to warrant that kind of behavior, and Mark just ignored Ten every time he asked. And Ten? He didn’t push where he needed to. Perhaps, he was so bad at it because another option was to put them in different teams and that’s the worst-case scenario in Ten’s head. Perhaps, he’s a coward. Perhaps, it makes him a shitty fucking guy who isn’t nearly deserving of his position. 

He rubs his eyes. One crippling self-doubt factor at a time, eh?

“Yang, Hendery,” he starts when he feels like he can speak like a normal person again, “keep an eye on Xiaojun. Report anything out of the ordinary, which is, let’s face it, everything about them.”

Yangyang frowns, biting his lip. Ten holds his breath, suspecting he’ll have to pull rank after all, when Yang glances at Hendery and nods. “Fine.”

Hendery echoes that, and Ten nods in satisfaction. At least these two aren’t giving him any trouble. He turns back to the idiots of the hour, who are standing there like the other doesn’t exist. Peachy. 

“Watch Anteros and find that goddamn raven,” he outright commands, not addressing either of them in particular. “But do _not_ approach them under any circumstances, I don’t want Namjoon knowing we’re onto him for now. And for fuck’s sake, don’t kill each other.”

They don't say anything, but Ten sees a slight nod from each, which is the best form of confirmation he’s getting, apparently. At this point, Ten will take it. 

“What about you?” Mark clicks his tongue. “Gonna talk to Taeyong again?”

Ten licks his lips, outlines of a foggy plan still not ready to surface. It’s okay. They’re there, and he almost knows what he’ll do now, he just needs his mess of a mind to cooperate and manifest it. 

“I’m going to do what I do best,” he says. “Snooping around.”

5

**May 27, 2019, 23:40**

_Seoul, South Korea_

_TOUCH HQ_

Yuta has been alive for a little over nine hundred years. He’s seen empires rise and fall, he’s watched revolutions and uprisings explode and flame out, he’s fought in more wars than any therapist can comprehend, he’s gone through his fair share of heartbreak and loss. Fun was also a part of it, incidentally. That one thing in early 20th century Russia he swore never to tell anyone about was simply marvelous. Even apart from that, he’s had a lot of drinking stories, some of them including revolutions and mysterious riddles the historians still wonder about. He even started a religion once. That one was an accident. He was just being petty, and then boom, Wicca popped out. It turned out to be pretty funny when a decade after he needed an official TOUCH degree and saw that they’re teaching it in the Academy. He practices it now, and it’s only partially because he loves poetic irony.

All in all, he’s had a full life, yet he never experienced that thing most immortals like to write about in their shitty poetry. He never felt lonely or spent. He’s been in virtually every corner of the world, but he always had a place to come back to and call home. Or, rather, a person. Up until the tragic events of 1943, he had a safe haven, a man that always welcomed him with open arms without blaming him for leaving every time. Because they had an agreement, and they always held up their end of the bargain. 

Until Yuta broke it. 

It wasn’t his fault, and it was much more complicated than Taeyong’s pathetic ‘betrayal’ explanation. He would expect that of everyone but him, but he reckons he deserved that and everything Taeyong spurned at him during their short multilingual conversation. The first time they’ve talked in eighty years, and that sparkly fucker really chose to break the silence with trying to break Yuta’s _nose_ and then calling him a whore. It wasn’t even the insult, it was the lack of imagination in it that offended Yuta. Taeyong could do better. 

He rubs his eyes, admitting to himself that he’s deflecting the guilt by trying to pin it on Taeyong, but that’s the excuse that’s been keeping him going for the past eight decades, so why not? 

It’s late, but he chose it strategically. Seoul HQ’s night shift employs a scarce number of staff, so he knew he wouldn’t risk bumping into someone on his way to the incarceration area. It didn’t cancel out a chance of running into Ten, and that’s a headache Yuta isn’t nearly ready to take on. One former best friend to feel guilty before at a time. Maybe he’s being dramatic, and Ten won’t enter the ‘former’ category over this one puny case of miscommunication, but at the rate things are going now, Yuta doesn’t want to take any chances. His priority right now is Taeyong, and he would choose him over anyone in the world under any circumstances. That’s probably the root of all his problems, he thinks bitterly as he rounds the corner, already pulling out his ID to enter the holding area. 

Only he doesn’t get to even reach the door, stopping in his tracks. There’s already someone here, and he’s definitely not the one Yuta expected to see, even if retrospectively he should’ve guessed. 

“ _Moon Taeil,_ ” he breathes out, breaking out into a surprised smile. 

Taeil turns to him with a frown, interrupted mid-sentence to a guy Yuta doesn’t know, and gapes at Yuta, his mouth still open in a comical ‘o’.

“Nakamoto,” Taeil greets with his own smile. 

It’s the most natural thing, to come closer and hug him, memories flashing before Yuta’s eyes, soaked in nostalgia and longing. It’s been _so long_. 

“How’ve you been?” He whispers, still holding Taeil, reluctant to break the contact. “Didn’t know you got out.”

Taeil pulls away with a smirk, fixing his hair. “You wouldn’t know. It’s a secret team.”

Some part of him, the one that always needs to be right, wants to argue, because he did know about the existence of the unit, he just didn’t know who was on it. But then again, he’s not supposed to have that kind of info, so he just smiles, nodding a little. 

“You’re doing well, I assume,” he chuckles. 

Taeil’s companion snorts loudly, rolling his eyes as he leans on a wall. “Our leader is in jail. I wouldn’t call that well.”

Yuta swallows a witty remark and forces the smile to stay on his face as he extends a hand to the guy. “Yuta, San Francisco department.”

The guy sizes him up, making no effort to return the handshake or even acknowledge Yuta’s palm. 

“I know who you are,” he drawls. “And I’m not a fan.”

“Sicheng,” Taeil warns, an uncomfortable frown on him that suggests this isn’t an unusual demeanor for Sicheng to have. Yuta decides not to take it personally. “Play nice. Yuta’s a friend.”

“Whose?”

“You want me to be yours, trust me,” Yuta says sweetly, putting his hands in his pockets. 

It’s the huli jing, he realizes belatedly. Something about his face and eyes, all sharp angles and savage poise. Fox knows fox. Fox rarely likes fox. 

Sicheng pushes away from the wall, rolling his tongue in his mouth as he stands before Yuta, somehow managing to look down on him when he’s barely higher than Yuta. Something about him speaks overplayed confidence, and while Yuta usually finds it annoying in people, Sicheng seems like quite an interesting specimen. 

“Taeyong doesn’t need you here,” Sicheng growls evenly. “Pack up your tails and leave.”

Yuta chuckles, licking his lips and summoning the little trick with his eyes, lighting them up with deep orange. “What, all nine of them? What do you even know about tails, kid?”

It usually intimidates other foxes, the whole reminder Yuta is basically the higher being compared to them one-tail kiddies, but this one has the audacity to snort and not look even a little bit alarmed. 

“Sure, all nine. Want a suitcase for them?”

“Thanks, I’ll manage. Now step out of the way. Taeyong is my best friend, and I’m here to get him out of the mess your team got him into.”

“What, the same friend that abandoned him for eighty years without an explanation? Yeah, priceless. Gotta get me one of those.”

“You have no idea what you're talking about, kid.”

Yuta’s head lulls back as Sicheng grabs his jacket, almost lifting him off the ground.

“Stop calling me that,” he growls, his face now so close Yuta sees yellow anger of a literal baby fox in there, hurt and trying to hurt back. Goddess, he doesn’t even realize his potential and strength, trying to show off like an inexperienced boy he is. 

“Then start behaving like an adult,” Yuta suggests, indifferent to this anger outburst. He knows how to handle a bitchy fox. He’s been dealing with himself his whole life, after all. 

Taeil puts a stop to it quite effectively, snatching Sicheng back and holding him a fair distance from Yuta. 

“This is not a time nor a place for a pissing contest,” he seethes, addressing mainly Sicheng. Yuta feels smug, just a bit. “Because believe me, he’d overpower you.”

Yuta smirks at Sicheng, but then realizes that Taeil is talking to _him_ , which is offensive beyond belief. That kid would take him? Yuta’s at least seven times older than him, and to think that problem child can do him any damage is absolutely ridiculous. 

“I’ll catch up with you later, I guess,” Yuta grits through his teeth, deciding to nurture his wounded pride later, in a private conversation with Taeil. “But just to remind you, I saved your life.”

“Yeah, yeah, from a poisoned arrow,” Taeil scoffs. “And I saved yours, so fuck off and go inside. He’ll be happy to see you, even if he denies it.”

That… Feels nice. Yuta suppresses a smile and walks past them, resisting poking his tongue out at Sicheng. He has to give it to the guy. It’s been a long time since someone could get on his nerves so quickly and efficiently. 

Taeil calls out for him when he’s already inside the cell block. Yuta turns around, head tilted inquiringly. Taeil clears his throat.

“He knows,” he says curtly. “Sorry.”

A shadow crosses over Yuta’s face, but he gathers himself quickly and simply nods, disappearing behind the transparent door. 

They watch Yuta slip inside the holding area and head for Taeyong’s cell. Taeil sighs, wondering if it’s the right thing to do. Yes, they have some unresolved issues, but it’s such a bad time for that, and Yuta just outright manifesting out of nowhere isn’t playing well into their plans. 

“You think that hag is seeing anyone?” Sicheng asks suddenly, measuring Yuta’s retreating form with a calculating look. 

Taeil stares at him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What?” He pouts, his anger nowhere to be seen. “He’s cute.”

“I’m not even granting that with an answer.”

“Why? You hit that?”

“Walking away from you now.”

“He’s a bitch, but I can’t deny those flashing eyes turned me on a little.”

“I’m not even listening to you as I _walk the fuck away_.”

“Party pooper.”

_///_

Taeyong is blasting some atrocious blues he always loved so much when Yuta stops before the cell. He knocks on the plastic, attracting his attention, but all it gets him is Taeyong turning the music up. Yuta curses under his breath. Who even came up with an incarceration system that allows inmates to feel like they’re on a resort? Sounds awfully humanitarian. Oh right, he knows who designed it. _Funny._

When it becomes obvious Taeyong isn’t turning the music off, Yuta shrugs to himself and swipes his ID over the lock. It opens with an airy push, and he steps inside, locking it behind him. Taeyong’s jaw stands out as he grits his teeth, stubbornly looking at the small window by the ceiling. Yuta reaches out and pushes a button on the headset, cutting the music off.

“Your tastes haven’t changed,” he comments, sitting down on the bank. Taeyong doesn’t move away, but Yuta knows him even better than himself. This isn’t a win. He’s just being stubborn. “I’m here to talk.”

“We already did.”

“Yeah, with an audience I can’t trust,” Yuta snorts. “Look at me, please.”

For a second there, Taeyong looks like he’s going to ignore the request, but then he closes his eyes, a familiar gesture of annoyance Yuta missed in ways he didn’t even realize, and turns his head. Yuta saw him up close already, but dim flickering lightning of the interrogation room didn’t highlight Taeyong’s sharp cheekbones and bluish skin quite as pointedly as the sharp lamps of the cell. Yuta has to hold himself back from reaching out and touching his face just to check if it feels as fragile as it looks. It seems like he can poke Taeyong’s cheek, and his skin will crumble like one of a shapeshifter. 

“You look like shit,” he says honestly. 

Taeyong clicks his tongue, curling his lips. “And you’re a _piece_ of shit. Look, we’re still a good match.”

Yuta snorts in amusement. It’s unreliable how his heart’s first reaction to everything Taeyong does is endearment even after decades of staying away and convincing himself he was over the whole thing. He lowers his eyes at Taeyong’s exposed wrist, their tattoo brighter now that its twin is nearby. 

It was Taeyong’s idea. He was always for some reason hung up on shapeshifters, obsessed with them more than with any other creature. He could never explain it, just said it was a gut feeling, and he was constantly afraid of being deceived by a shapeshifter, which is why he wanted them to have a way to identify each other under any circumstances. It took Yuta years to track down the ink he needed. He found it in a small mavkas community in the Carpathians, in a cave that smelled strongly of sage and absinthe. It was a few drops of magical potion that stayed on your skin no matter the transformation your body went through, and it could not be replicated by anyone, even a shapeshifter. He tattooed Taeyong himself, and he can still see a tiny shaky flaw in a line that appeared when Taeyong made him laugh and his hand wavered. It was an eternity ago. 

“I wanted you to know I’m sorry,” he mutters, suddenly awkward. It never used to be awkward with Taeyong. “And also explain myself.”

“I already know what happened, Yuki,” Taeyong says abruptly, his wrist jerking in that dismissing motion he always uses when he opens up about something personal. “I looked you up after the War. For a long time, your file was blank. But then you surfaced in 1965, and it said you were captured during the battle at Aokigahara and released right after the War, so there went me grieving for your death for two decades. I also met Taeil in ‘01, and well… He told me what really happened.”

Yuta closes his eyes, ashamed. “I should’ve let you know I was alive. And about the Taeil thing.”

“You wouldn’t be able to,” Taeyong assures him, fake compassion spread over his face. “I would have been long gone from the Palace by the time your consciousness decided to check in.”

“Juuryoku—”

“Don’t.”

“ _Taeyong,_ ” he presses on, digging his nails into his palm to calm down. “I swear I tried getting to you, I know I promised to meet you in your freedom, and I fought so hard to—”

There’s a cold hand on his wrist, cutting his wordflow off. He looks up, half-afraid to see hatred in him, but Taeyong’s eyes carry the same warm honey Yuta always remembered the best about him. He even seems genuine. 

“I forgave you for breaking your promise a long time ago,” Taeyong whispers. “It was out of your power. You did a brave thing. You took a fall meant for me.”

Yuta gapes at him, searching for a catch. There has got to be something wrong about it. It isn’t supposed to be this easy. If it was, he wouldn’t let it drag on for so long. Taeyong’s smile is real, he knows it is because he’s seen it thousands of times before, and he knows every curve and wrinkle of Taeyong’s face like his own. His affection is genuine. 

“That’s…”

“But I still wish you would leave and never show your face before me again,” Taeyong continues in the same conversational tone, his warm smile unwavering. “You had decades to find me after it was all over. Yet you never lifted a finger.”

It’s unfair, Yuta reflects coldly. It’s also a very Taeyong thing to do. 

Most people who know Lee Taeyong have a lot to say about him, and it generally always pools in the same characteristics area — Taeyong is deeply, fundamentally, profoundly _good_. He always gives whatever he can spare to those in need, even when it harms him. He’ll never walk past a person in pain without attempting to find a way to help them. He’s been nothing but hurt, neglected, and abused by people in power throughout the majority of his life, but he never became broken or vengeful. There was a reason Taeyong was the kids’ favorite steward. They trusted him and regarded him as an equal, not just a lower creature obligated to serve them under a tampered contract. Because he was nice. 

What none of them, not one of those people Taeyong met and befriended over the years, knew, though, was that Lee Taeyong could also be painfully and torturously selfish. At least when it came to his Great Fated Purpose. Taeyong could sacrifice everything but his pipe dream, hallucination dated centuries, desperate illusion he kept clinging to because if it came true for every fairy, it must come true for him, no matter how long it takes. Yuta never minded being a replacement for someone who might never come along, because they had an agreement with Taeyong, they worked it out, it was flowing smoothly. Until Yuta made a mistake he once swore never to let happen. 

“I thought you’d get why,” he whispers, his voice breaking. 

Taeyong frowns in that elegant way you can only ever achieve after going through generations of royalty schooling your every movement. 

“Oh, I think I do,” he says breathlessly, almost shocked. “Still doesn’t make it hurt any less. I never forced you to be anything you didn’t want. You could’ve talked to me, but no, of course it was a better option to just disappear and pretend everything was peachy.”

“You’re doing that thing again,” Yuta notes tiredly. “Pulling a Yoshiko.”

He’s sure Taeyong doesn’t want him to, but he still catches how his pretentious smile wavers for a second, a real one sneaking through after hearing their ancient inside joke. Princess Yoshiko was possibly the most high-maintenance and dramatic royal Yuta has encountered in his years of service in the Family, and whenever one of them was acting like a little bitch, they would call it pulling a Yoshiko. It always worked to alleviate the pressure. 

“Shut up,” Taeyong murmurs, looking away. “You don’t get to come here and bring all those memories back with you. I’m sorry, Yuki, but you just don’t.”

His hand is still on Yuta’s wrist, and he turns his palm over, intertwining their fingers. Taeyong doesn’t pull away, but he’s good at controlling his bodily reactions. It doesn’t mean he’s truly forgiven. 

“You were my everything,” Taeyong breathes out, frowning almost analytically. “The only person I never doubted. And then poof. You’re gone to the wind. No explanation, no note. I woke up that day thinking you just left to meet up with someone, you know? Because you promised the night before. I asked you if you’d stay longer, and you said _of course, Yong, of course I will. It’s been centuries. Of course I’ll stay._ And you didn’t. I had to find out you left from fucking Fei, Yuta. I still remember her smirk when she realized I didn’t know.”

Yuta’s head is swimming and buzzing. Breathing is hard. “You said you found out what happened…”

“Sixty years too late,” Taeyong cuts off. “Too late.” He takes his hand away and hides it between his thighs, his face expressionless. “But this isn’t the time or place to talk about it. I have much more to say to you before I can feel completely done with you. Leave, please. I will see you in another eight decades, if I’m still alive.”

“Let me help,” Yuta whispers urgently, mindful of the cameras. Never know who’s on your side. “Tell me what’s going on and let me make it up to you.”

Taeyong goes to undoubtedly contradict, but then something occurs to him and he freezes, mouth hanging open. “Actually… How far are you willing to go?”

It should be alarming, he reckons, but the thrill of having Taeyong trusting him again — or maybe not trusting just yet but wanting to, allowing them to take the path to reconciliation — is something he wouldn’t be able to fight even if he wanted to. Yuta takes a deep breath and nods. 

“However far you need me to.”

Taeyong chuckles, touching Yuta’s cheek in an almost-forgotten gentle caress. He leans in and puts his lips to Yuta’s ear, his breath gushing over Yuta’s neck and making the hair at the back of it stand up. “ _Then go back to San Francisco._ ”

This _motherfucker_. He leans away, smirking at Yuta like a little devil, and smashes the button on the headset, letting the music flow again. Yuta watches him lie down on the bunk and bury his head in the pillow, hiding his face. 

As Yuta helplessly leaves his cell and slowly walks up the endless stairs, he looks back at the exact moment he knew he wasn’t contacting Taeyong after getting out from the concentration camp. That serene certainty, that absolute absence of guilt, that relief he felt upon deciding to take care of himself for a change… He was completely rid of any desire to face Lee Taeyong again. 

What wouldn’t he give to feel like that again. 

5

**May 28, 2019, 04:30**

_Seoul, South Korea_

_TOUCH HQ_

Something starts on Tuesday morning. Hendery can’t exactly put his finger on it, but it’s in the air, this residue sweetness on the tip of his tongue — anticipation. It reminds him of those days before a big deal, when everything was already done and prepared, and nobody could do anything at that point and everything left was simply waiting and hoping the plan works like it’s supposed to. Those were the days you wouldn’t want to get in Kara’s way. Before Hendery reached a ripe age of fifteen when he was allowed to actively participate in whatever deal was going down, he used to hide in attics and secret passages around the house in hopes of catching some rumors or news. It always hung in the air. The knowledge. 

Only this time, he doesn’t know what it's about, and he isn’t even sure something _will_ happen. It’s just _there_ , manifesting in windows and walls, sneaking its way through long corridors and spiral staircases, lurking in people’s faces and energies. He tries not to stare too much when he passes agents, their ranks filling up with each hour, but it’s still hard to resist an urge to find an answer to the riddle in their suspicious eyes and tightly pursed lips. He feels anxious having to go through such a crowd, a stark contrast to relative desolation of the past week, but Yangyang didn’t feel very good after the Moon going void and chose to sleep in, so Hendery, as the one least affected by the movements of that grey rock out of their whole team unless it went full, decided to visit Xiaojun himself. He wonders if Ten doesn’t feel its influence too or is just that good at hiding it. Shapeshifters aren’t exactly magical, their powers stem from the biochemical processes of their bodies, which would make it weird if they were affected by the Moon. 

He gets so deep into his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice that Xiaojun isn’t in his usual bed at the infirmary at first. He stops in his tracks as eerie silence of the hospital wing settles over him, setting his nerves on edge. They were here just yesterday, and Jun didn’t say anything about getting discharged.

Instant panic starts clawing at Hendery’s lungs as the worst possibilities run through his mind. Kidnapped, injured, killed, tak—

He almost screams out when a hand grabs his forearm, another slapping over his mouth. Xiaojun appears in his line of vision before he can start fighting back, and Hendery feels his muscles relax only barely. Jun carefully uncovers his mouth and puts his index finger to his lips.

“ _Follow me_ ,” he mouths and doesn’t wait for an answer, leading Hendery down a side corridor he never noticed.

Hendery becomes acutely aware of their surroundings as they haste through the tiny corridors and metal doors that look rusted and unused. Air becomes colder, Hendery’s breath coming out in white puffs of fog as they stroll forward. He tugs at Xiaojun’s sleeve, but the boy doesn’t react apart from letting go of Hendery’s forearm.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He tries to say, but it comes out in pieces seeing as they’re now basically squeezing through an entrance into a pitch-dark room to come to a stop.

He blinks a few times to let his eyes adjust and the night vision kick in and looks around. It’s an empty warehouse, but the smell that assaults Hendery’s senses tells a story of what might’ve been stored here. Gasoline. Fresh. Xiaojun gropes for him in the darkness, which is when Hendery remembers that the boy isn’t nocturnal and can’t see for shit. He catches Jun’s fingers and plants them firmly on his shoulder.

“What is going on?” He asks urgently, noting the feverish look of Jun’s eyes.

“Exi… Exi…” Xiaojun tries, frustration scrunching up his face when he can’t push it out.

“You can mouth it, I see you,” Hendery assures him, making himself sound gentler. Jun is obviously in distress, his lower lip cracked from how much he’s been worrying it. “Did you mean the exit?”

Xiaojun nods, his damp hair bobbing along with his head. Hendery frowns and looks around, searching for a door on the opposite wall. When he locates it, he starts forward, careful of any obstructions Xiaojun might not see in the dark. 

No need to worry, though. As they walk across the warehouse, the only thing on the concrete floor are black tire marks. His training kicks in as they cross the room, and he counts two vehicles that has left the facility as recently as twenty minutes ago. That’s why the smell is so strong. What’s strange, though, is that there are no other cars here. He distinctly remembers the same-looking room they arrived in when they were taken to the facility. Is this a separate warehouse? Why isn’t it used by the agents? Surely there are enough cars for more than one garage. 

They reach the door, and he grabs the handle, ready to leave, but Xiaojun squeezes his arm.

“ _Discreetly._ ”

Hendery feels like dismissing his worries because he can’t hear anything behind the door, but Xiaojun seems distressed enough without him being an ass. He nods, even though he’s not sure Jun can distinguish it in the dark, and slowly pushes the door open, careful of any creaks.

Immediately, fresh breeze washes over his face, a stark contrast to the stench of gasoline inside, and he realizes they’re outside, at the edge of the forest. There’s a small clearing here, with a road coming around the building and away. It seems like an old unused parking lot. Hendery throws a cautious glance at the horizon. Sun is about to come up, already painting the treetops with grapefruit. He can’t stay outside for long. Xiaojun nudges him outside, and they exit, carefully closing the door behind them. Hendery realizes it can foul shut only a second before it actually happening and shoots his leg up, propping it open. Xiaojun catches his train of thought and picks up a rock to put between the door and its frame.

Engine roaring makes Hendery crouch on instinct, and he tugs Jun with him, but the boy just dismisses him and starts walking to the corner of the building. Well shit. Hendery briefly curses himself for getting into fuck knows what and follows him, leaning over the wall to peek outside.

A peculiar scene meets him when he takes it in. Three cars are standing near the road, with two of them facing the forest and one, engine idling, turned toward the gates to the warehouse, now closed. They’re all RVs, huge black things with tinted windows. He thinks he can distinguish people in the idling car, but it’s impossible to say for sure from this distance. He turns to Xiaojun to inquire what all of this means, but the boy just shakes his head and presses his index finger to his lips again, his eyes almost burning with something bubbling in the mind behind them. 

A loud clang goes off from the other side of the building, and the door of the occupied car throws open, a dark-haired man of a rather small complexion jumping down and cursing before the cause of the noise comes into view. Which are two tall men whom Hendery instantly recognizes as the agents Ten told them about. Mark managed to find their profiles after all and identified them as Jung Hoseok and Kim Seokjin, special operatives from an unspecified Daegu unit. They’re carrying something between them. It’s hard to see what it is because Hoseok is covering it with his body, but as they get closer to the car, Hendery sees, to his great amusement and a good deal of bewilderment, that they’re carrying a metallic cabinet. 

“I can’t fucking believe you two,” the man seethes, slapping a hand over his forehead. “Why haven’t you taken the whole goddamn shelf while you were at it?”

“It’s locked and we were running out of time,” Seokjin snaps back. “I'm gonna kill that inconspicuous witch idiot.”

The window of the car whirs down, and another man, this one with an acidic explosion of orange hair, pops out. 

“Will you hurry up?” He whisper-yells. “The sun is about to come up. From that point on, we’ll only have eleven or so hours, and we have a shitton of preparation to do.”

Eleven hours for what? What the fuck is going on? Xiaojun looks distressed, but he doesn’t look _surprised_ , that’s the thing. Does he know these people and what they’re doing here? Why did he drag Hendery here, then?

“Help us load it up,” Hoseok huffs when they get closer to one of the silent cars. 

Orange-haired man rolls his eyes and grabs the hood, jumping out of the car without bothering to open the door and landing with surprising grace. He doesn’t even stop to catch his breath before walking around to another car and popping the trunk open. With a collective effort and a few more witty remarks from the dark-haired guy, they manage to load the cabinet in without creating more noise. Seokjin groans loudly, rubbing his lower back. 

“Chop-chop,” the small man claps his hands. “You’re outta here by sunrise. It’s our cue now.”

Hoseok reaches over to fistbump him and jumps into the driver's seat, leaving the clearing and driving off to the main road. Seokjin says something that Hendery can’t quite distinguish to the orange-haired guy and leaves a minute later in the original car yet not following Hoseok but down the road leading into the forest. Now there’s only two unfamiliar dudes and another car. Hendery starts fearing he’s going insane. 

The men wait until Seokjin’s car is out of sight to haul the remaining one into the warehouse. Hendery and Xiaojun stay stapled to the wall until they absolutely have to hide because the sun is about to turn Hendery’s ass crispy, but before he can ask Xiaojun if it’s safe to take their original route if those guys are still inside, Jun leads him to another side of the building, entering yet another small door that takes them down more narrow and dark corridors until they magically arrive to the hospital wing again. 

He doesn’t even get to ask what that was about before Xiaojun grabs the notepad from his bed and starts writing furiously before shoving the note into Hendery almost violently. 

“ _Go to your apartment right away. Don’t come to visit me today, and convince Yangyang not to. Tell Ten about everything you saw as soon as you see him. Do not leave the apartment until it is necessary. You will know when it is. Taeyong thinks we don’t need you in on it, but I know he’ll want Ten to be with us, and you all don’t come separately. If you see those two men around the building, do not give yourself away. Please, trust me._ ”

Hendery swallows thickly, honestly a little scared. Xiaojun looks even more feverish now, his fingers refusing to stay steady as he fidgets with them, all while pinning Hendery down with those bright eyes of his. Yangyang seems to believe everything Xiaojun is saying, but Hendery still can’t quite find the same trust in himself. 

But it’s not like he can’t consult with Ten, right? Jun even outright said to tell Ten everything. Unless it’s a ploy and that’s exactly what will lead them into trouble. 

He can already feel his head buzzing, but he still finds himself nodding numbly and watching as Xiaojun lies down under the covers, tucking himself in up to his ears. His wrist tattoo flashes in the bedside lamp light, and the image fixes itself before Hendery’s eyes as he walks back to the apartment. Everybody’s probably already sleeping, but Ten has been absent for the entire night, so maybe he’s just come back and is still awake. If not, Hendery can talk to Johnny. Yes, he can talk to Johnny. Everything will be alright. 

Why does it feel like they’re being played like a bunch of fools, then?

5

**December 25, 1998, 13:46**

_Shanghai, China_

_Tilanqiao Prison_

Sicheng becomes the talk of the town the minute he steps into the prison building. Namjoon said he’s made quite a reputation for himself on the inside even before he was officially convicted. Inmates love a good lawyer went bad story. Granted, he never became a fully-fledged lawyer, and he probably never will, but it’s still better than gossiping about the same two things again. 

He will learn what those two things are on his first day — the warden’s affair with chief of staff and lack of a proper contraband ring. He’ll even go on to hook the said warden up with a few dating tips — gods know he got his in all the years of traveling and being a creature in need of oxytocin to survive. He will also run the ring for a brief period of peculiar boredom a few months down the line. 

But that will be later. Now, he walks down the aisle to his new cell, listening with a shit-eating grin plastered to his cracked lips as the inmates promise to make his time here worthwhile. If Taeyong is doing good on his promise, that won’t be for long. A few years, tops. Sicheng doesn’t mind. He’s had his fair share of constantly moving. He can use some bed rest. Besides, now that his main goal in life has finally manifested into a corpse of his mother’s killer, he kinda needs some thinking time to rearrange his perspectives. The world is a funny place. If it had a place for a monster of a human that managed to collect fourteen huli jing on his killing record, it can accommodate a little sociopath in the making that Sicheng turned out to be. 

He can practically hear Namjoon objecting and reminding the judge that Sicheng underwent all the psychiatric evaluations and was cleared as a sane guy. Well. He may not be a clinical sociopath, but he definitely shares some values. He even envies them. It would be nice _not to feel_ for a change. Alas, he still does. He still misses his mother, her loss forever etched into the insides of his hollow bones. He still feels that strange mix of love and annoyance for Taeyong, his kind smile burning Sicheng’s memories as he doesn’t quite believe he deserves it to be aimed at him. He still longs to continue living and finding himself in this big bad world that allows angels and demons to walk alongside. 

The bars screech to the side with an ugly noise Sicheng already feels he will come to hate. It’s a two-bunks cell, one side bare of any signs of habitation. The other one isn’t that far off, just a few drawings pinned to the farthest corner. His cellmate doesn’t bother getting up, simply lowering a bright paperback he’s reading to his chest and regarding Sicheng with a calculating look. Doesn’t seem mean, Sicheng notes. Closed off a tad, but definitely attractive enough to try and get something out of it if comradeship proves to be boring. It’s a new concept for him, after all, let alone a genuine friendship. His only long-lasting bond, apart from the one with his mother, consisted of him pulling a Frank Abagnale on a TOUCH agent. Normal people do other shit, right? Don’t blame him for the confusion, dear public. Dong Sicheng is twenty-one, and he’s just starting to learn basic social conventions. 

The door slams shut behind him, and he wets his lips, regarding his new apartment. Cozy, really. He drops the stuff he was provided with on the bunk and puts his hands on his hips, nodding at the dude on the bed. 

“Dong Sicheng. Whatcha in for?”

The dude quirks an eyebrow at him, and for a hot second there Sicheng believes he’s going to be ignored, but then his companion sighs and gets up from the bed. 

“Moon Taeil,” he says in a rather melodic voice, offering Sicheng a hand. “Killed a bunch of humans. You?”

Sicheng feels a predatory smile stretch his lips as he shakes Taeil’s hand vigorously. 

“Killed _a_ human.”

“He deserve it?”

“More than.”

“Good job, then.”

Sicheng decides right there and then that he likes Taeil. Sharp ears and shiny eyes that are dulled now by what Sicheng recognizes as the symptoms of magic suppressants. He was informed he’ll have to take those for his _cravings_ , and ain’t that a treat. Taeil, though, doesn’t feel like a fellow hormones maniac. Elf, probably. 

“I feel like we’re going to get along _and_ have fun,” Sicheng informs him pompously, which earns him a snort and an analytical gaze. 

“Slow down, crazy.” Taeil rubs his nose, a habit Sicheng will come to learn during the years to come. “Settle down and don’t make any trouble. There’s no way out of here.”

Sicheng feels in such a giddy mood it would be impossible to believe it’s caused by his first day in prison. He rubs his hands together, dry skin soughing already from the lack of oxytocin in his bloodstream. Taeil is regarding him funnily, like a strange specimen in a madhouse he can’t help but admire. 

No way out of here, huh?

“Bet.” 

5

**May 28, 2019, 12:17**

_Seoul, South Korea_

_TOUCH HQ_

Taeyong takes one look at his visitor and scoffs, looking away and reaching for the headset. The plan is already in motion, and he doesn’t have any strength or argument left to convince Yuta to just fuck off and go back home. Wherever that is now. It used to be that Taeyong was his go-to destination, always and forever, but the times sure have changed.

Some part of him knows he’s deflecting. In a way, he was the one who drove Yuta away. It was never something concrete he did, no, it was a myriad of small things over the years that have accumulated into a single decision on Yuta’s part to leave him behind. Taeyong thinks that the fact of Yuta leaving hurts less than the realization of Taeyong causing it without noticing it until it was already too late.

He thought Yuta got it. Damn, Yuta _said_ he got it. He knew how it was, and he always said he’s okay with it because who was he to go against destiny? And look at them now.

“I stopped needing your help a long time ago,” Taeyong grits outs, deciding to entertain his kitsune — _not his, not anymore, gotta finally get used to it_ — after all.

How did they get here? They used to be inseparable. Yes, they could go years without seeing each other, but they still always kept in touch, and Yuta never failed to make true on his promise to visit. It wasn’t his fault Taeyong was tied to the family for centuries. Never in a hundred years would he ask Yuta to stay in the Palace after his own contract expired just because he was lonely. Yuta offered, of course, more than once, because that was just the kind of person he was, but Taeyong declined time after time. All because he believed they’ll get their share of traveling together when he’s finally free.

Only when he stepped out of the Palace, invisible binds falling from his wrists at last, Yuta wasn’t there. 

“What happened to us?” Yuta asks softly, almost tentatively. 

What a funny question. Taeyong has been pondering on it ever since he saw Yuta come into the interrogation room. Hilarious, really. Taeyong had spent the better part of the last century looking over his shoulder, expecting Yuta to appear like a damn vision all that time, and when he actually did just that, Taeyong lost his speech _and_ temper from surprise. So much for telling himself he’s forgiven a long time ago just to see his face again and feel nothing but anger.

“How’s your nose?” He asks instead of answering Yuta’s question. “It seems better.”

It seems a lot better, in fact. When Yuta visited him last night, it wasn’t that badly bruised but you would have to be visually impaired not to see yellow hemorrhage under Yuta’s left eye. Now, however, it’s completely gone. He could’ve put makeup on it, but Taeyong knows Yuta. The dude always wore his injuries with pride. They lost touch by the time the expression “aesthetic” came around, but looking as battered and bruised as possible was always Yuta’s.

“It’s fine, thank you.”

There’s something wrong with him aside from their whole relationship lying in ashes between them. Taeyong meets his eyes from behind the plastic wall, but it’s too distorted for him to figure out what is. Some elusive factor about the way he’s holding himself.

“Your trial is set to happen in Daegu,” Yuta speaks up suddenly, a peculiar frown on him. “I just heard it from Namjoon.”

Taeyong freezes. 

“No,” he breathes out. “You couldn’t have heard it from Namjoon.”

Clutches of fear encircle his heart as he shoots up from the bunk, almost throwing himself on the wall in a desperately urgent attempt to look into Yuta’s eyes after all. Yuta shies away, his hand coming to rest over his chest, which is how Taeyong notices the first thing off.

“Show me your wrist,” he demands shakily, hypnotizing Yuta’s sleeve. “Show me the tattoo, Yuki.”

Yuta’s eyes widen as he realizes his mistake, and he steps away from the cell, foreign fear casting its shadow on the skin that doesn’t belong to him. Taeyong feels immeasurable rage taking over his mind, reddening his vision as he stares at what gave the man away. There’s no necklaces. Yuta always wears them, because one of them contains his _hoshi no tama_ , a pearl of much greater value than any jewel in the world.

“You’ve taken it too far, Ten,” he growls, trying and failing to subdue the rage storming inside. “You could’ve just asked me anything you wanted. But turning into _Yuta_? That’s fucking sacred.”

He can see doubt on Ten’s face, the already-familairy crease of his brow looking extremely foreign on Yuta’s face. Ten didn’t really commit to the role, he realizes. He didn’t look into the memories, otherwise he would’ve copied Yuta’s mannerism without breaking a sweat. It’s a relief, Taeyong has to admit. If Ten knew what Yuta knows… No. He doesn’t even want to think about that, because he knows he will wish Ten would do it. And that goes against everything he’s fought for since he saw Xiaojun entering his chambers back in Jinju.

Finally, Ten decides that it’s not worth the trouble and sighs, relaxing a little. He comes close to the glass and speaks quietly to avoid the cameras picking up his voice.

“I didn’t do it to get info out of _you_ ,” he grunts. “I needed to move around the building without being questioned. Yuta is like a pariah here with his status.”

“Where is he?” Taeyong demands, hands sweaty from exertion where he’s pressing them to the plastic. “If you did something to him—”

“He’s sleeping,” Ten huffs. “He’s one of my best friends, I wouldn’t hurt him. And I thought you hated him.”

Best friend, huh. That is… Absolutely hilarious, actually. What is it with Universal irony lately? Taeyong could piss himself laughing.

“A line between hate and love is a particularly thin one, and it’s invisible with Yuta and I,” he says vaguely. “You better go back to your place and take him off before anybody catches you. Half the brass in this building knows him personally, you wouldn’t want to be caught with your pants down.”

Ten squints his eyes at him, and Taeyong’s heart skips a beat at the familiarity of the gesture even behind the more familiar face of his former best friend. It’s been barely a few days, but he’s starting to getting to know Ten and his characteristics. 

Leaving him behind is gonna hurt like a motherfucking bitch, oh yes it will.

“Not before you tell me what’s going on,” Ten insists stubbornly, shaking his head. “I’m not an idiot, Taeyong, and I know you’re planning something. Possibly in cahoots with Namjoon and his teammates. ‘Unspecified Daegu unit,’ really? Come on, how long did it take you to alter the records to avoid me seeing they’re from Namjoon’s team?”

Taeyong sucks on his tongue, contemplating just coming clean and hoping for the best. He wouldn’t recruit the agent coming to kill him in a hundred years if it wasn’t this particular man, his real face still clear to Taeyong even through the glamour. He told himself it didn’t matter but he couldn’t really dispose of him, could he? It would mean everything leading him to that Seoul rooftop was pointless and rather cruel. 

It does matter, in the end. Which is why he can’t tell him anything. 

“I’ve already broken half a dozen rules,” Ten whispers urgently, as if sensing Taeyong’s thoughts. “Might as well have a reason for that, do I?”

“I didn’t make you do anything,” Taeyong reminds him, impossible affection washing over his heart that he has to fight with all his might. “You followed me willingly, and you even went to great lengths to come along with my bullshit. You’re still doing it. Stealing a face of the High Council member to illegally snoop around the HQ? That’s a federal offense.”

It’s hard to keep a straight face when he’s saying all of this. He needs Ten to leave him behind and stay safe, keep himself and his team out of the line of fire, stay in one piece until Taeyong can finish up with his business and… And what? He can’t even justify it in his mind because all he wants is to drag Ten into this mess. It would be so easy to throw in another bait and enable Ten’s innate desire to misbehave. It’s obvious he’s suppressing something, and if Taeyong’s life taught him anything, it’s always knowing what exactly people are afraid to let loose. In Ten’s case, it’s himself. 

The sun is high up in the sky behind the window of his cell. Somewhere in the building, a plan is brewing. 

“I did this all because I won’t forgive myself if what you’re saying about Xiaojun turns out to be true and I failed to help the kid,” Ten says. “So please, convince me it’s all bullshit and I don’t have anything to worry about, or allow me to really help.”

 _It would be so easy._ Ten is already digging himself deeper and deeper. All it would take is a tiny push by Taeyong’s hand. He’s waited so long for this, can’t he allow himself this weakness? Taeil would definitely approve. Yuta… Well, that’s another issue to worry about. 

“Stay in the apartment today,” he says after all, avoiding Ten’s eyes. “And keep your team inside, too.” 

He goes to his bunk at that, drawing his legs under him and burying his face in his hands. Sicheng was right that time twenty-five years ago. Taeyong is truly a coward on top of being a liar. 

“What does it mean?”

Ten’s voice is verging on pleading or screaming, and he can’t listen to it. What a convenient thing this music headset is. Gotta thank whoever came up with that. _Oh right._

She would laugh at him right now, he reckons. But what does she know? Didn’t even wait for him to come back for her funeral. 

Ten leaves after not getting a response, angrily stomping down the corridor, and Taeyong lies down, staring at the white wall and counting down the minutes, feeling his resolve trickle through his trembling fingers.

One, I watched all my loved ones die just to get here.

Two, haven’t I suffered enough?

Three, I wish he knew. 

Four, I might be dead before I get to tell him the truth. 

Five, I wish he knew. 

Six, I can’t break down right now, I have the fate of too many people in my hands. 

Seven, _I wish he knew._

5

**May 28, 2019, 14:05**

_Seoul, South Korea_

_TOUCH HQ_

Mark gets fully set on walking off his annoyance by exploring the facility around the seventh time he sees Johnny around the apartment and gets an urge to throw a flaming sword at him. That would cause another _talk_ with Ten, and he heard flaming swords are in short supply nowadays, so the only option is to just _get over it_ , however pathetic that may sound.

He doesn’t get to wander off too far, though. Johnny appears just like he always does, all tall and intimidating, ready to throw another cause to hate him into the already existing mess. Before the tumbler in Mark’s inner system can switch to the ‘fight’ option, Johnny grabs his arm and drags him to the nearest room, ignoring his complaints as he pushes Mark into a strangely open server room. Johnny slams the door behind him, covering them in half-darkness, but it doesn’t close the whole way, and that’s when he notices a mini-basketball taped to the doorframe preventing it from locking. Strange, probably, but Johnny looks murderous, so Mark chooses to focus on that. 

“The fuck was that?” Johnny spits out. 

Mark goes into defense mode without even realizing it, hugging his frame and stepping away into a console shadow. Some cords fall on his face and he swipes at them in annoyance. 

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb or I’m going to punch you.”

As if to emphasize his words, Johnny leans on the wall with his arm, his muscles standing out from the short-sleeve he’s wearing. What a show-off. Mark scowls at him. 

“You crossed the line,” he responds after all with a sniff. “We agreed to keep that shit a secret.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mark, we’re keeping so many secrets lately I’ve lost fucking count,” Johnny seethes. Mark notices how long his hair has gotten. “It was _a joke_. That’s what we do, Mark, or have you forgotten? You made like seventeen wolf jabs at me in the past week alone.”

Mark sees red. 

“That’s _different_ ,” he breathes out. “I’m fine with you telling people I’m a blood slut, Maxi Pad, plasma hoe, honestly, whatever, everybody knows I’m a vampire. But nobody knows I’m also… That.”

Johnny rolls his eyes and rubs his forehead, groaning in frustration. “I don’t understand why you’re so fucking touchy about that. You always blow things out of proportion, and if you ask me, that’s exactly the reason you don’t have any friends apart from me.”

Like a hot needle into a lung. He grits his teeth together, fighting the wave of heartache or, gods forbid, tears. He can’t let Johnny see that hurt him as much as it did, so he just snorts. It comes out like an ugly quack. 

“In what world are you my friend, you uncooked tomato?”

“Considering the circumstances, I’m the closest thing you have to one,” Johnny says with that sarcastically acidic voice of his that always emits a range of reactions in Mark, all varying in annoyance. “And you know what? I’m actually good at keeping your secrets, and I am genuinely sorry I almost slipped, _but_ I still think you overreacted. I don’t know why you’re so embarrassed by that. It’s actually kinda cute.”

Mark steps into his personal space, ignoring their height difference and putting his index finger on Johnny’s chest. “Call me cute one more time and I’ll pull out your ribs one by one to feed them to _actual_ wolves.”

Johnny doesn’t even waver, arching an eyebrow at him, his crooked smirk not doing shit to help Mark calm down. “Yeah, talk dirty to me some more.”

What an asshole. Mark slaps his chest and steps away, feeling like he’s fallen into another one of Johnny’s traps. The amount of power this man sometimes has over him is alarming, but if Mark couldn’t figure out how to handle it healthily in the past nine years, he doubts it’s gonna start working now. All because he couldn’t handle his fucking liquor. 

“Just leave me alone,” he murmurs, blinking rapidly. 

He doesn’t see Johnny pursing his lips but he can physically feel him doing that. “Practice what you preach.”

Johnny lets the door close on its own on his way out. Mark stares at the rubber ball holding it and tries to erase Johnny’s words from his mind. What does he even know about Mark not having any friends? Why does he always come for Mark’s habit for alienating people when he was exactly the reason it even happ—

“That sounded intense, y’all def got some issues, man.”

Mark whips around at the Korean speech, hand going to his holster before he remembers he left his gun at the apartment because he didn’t expect to need it in a freaking TOUCH HQ building. 

At first, he doesn’t see the owner of the voice, but then he distinguishes a lumped form in the darkness that he previously mistook for a bundle of cords. The figure shifts and comes closer, the light from the consoles falling onto a face of a… Teenager. 

Mark stares at him, the assessment process taking up about three seconds. Medium build, slightly taller than Mark, a fury of messy dark hair falling onto his eyes, a rather shy smile reminding Mark of an anime character he can’t quite recall. The kid is dressed like an average hipster wannabe, his acid neon green hoodie embroidered with a painfully familiar logo of the TOUCH’s advanced IT School program. Mark has around four of those lying around back home, with the only difference being the department’s name. He went to school in San Francisco, and this kid, if he didn’t lift the hoodie off of someone but actually got it himself, attended the Busan Academy. He’s got a tiny tablet in his hand, not unlike the one Mark occasionally uses himself when Ten needs him to do some dubiously legal shit. 

“Who are you?” He blurts out, gathering the crumbs of his half-forgotten Korean vocabulary and deciding to put his suspicions on hold. He just thought it himself — this is a TOUCH building, this kid is probably some technical support intern. 

The boy scrunches his nose up and leans on the wall, making weird motions with his face. Mark realizes he’s trying to look cool and nonchalant but failing miserably. 

“Who am I not?” He declares pompously, sighing overdramatically. “Not a fool, perhaps, yet most of my acquaintances would disagree. A genius? That I am.”

Mark stares at him, absolutely not impressed. “You’re about to step on an exposed cord, genius.”

The kid yelps and drops the act, jumping away while Mark suppresses a smirk. He looks down and realizes there’s no cords, which leads him to engage such a huge pout Mark thinks Hendery could learn something from him. 

“You’re a meanie,” he whines, but before Mark can retaliate and find out who he is after all, they’re interrupted by a static noise followed by a deep voice from a radio somewhere on the guy’s person. 

“ _Gguk-ah, you better hurry up._ ”

The kid, now identified as Gguk, scurries to pull a tiny walkie-talkie out of the hoodie’s pocket and press the response button. “Almost done, hyung, be with you in five.”

He cuts the receiver off then, stuffing both it and the tablet into the same pocket it came from and walking around Mark toward the exit. “Nice meeting ya, sorry you’re fighting with your boyfriend, healthy communication goes all the way!”

Before Mark can process it, he unstaples the mini-basketball from the frame and pockets it too, wiggling his fingers at Mark and disappearing. It takes him a second to appear again and smile at Mark in a mischievous way that reminds him strongly of his older brother pulling another prank. 

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

Gguk shrugs and sucks in his lips like he pulled an amazing stunt and wants to talk about it but can’t. He thinks about it for a moment and then giggles, wiggling his fingers again. 

“Caw-caw, motherfucker.”

He disappears soundlessly, just a soft click of now unobstructed door indicating someone even passed there. Soundless and cocky. 

Like a damn _raven_.

5

**November 22, 2001, 17:35**

_New York, USA_

The first time Sicheng meets Jung Jaehyun, the sounds of the Thanksgiving Parade are raving outside, dulled by the thick glass of their first ever joint safehouse’s windows. He would know what Jaehyun is even without previously obtaining that info from Taeyong. It’s this deep chill in Sicheng’s bones, the flashing _rival_ instinct that almost incapacitates his common sense. Incubi are a different breed from huli jing, but when all the fancy superstition and ethnical background is stripped away, at the end of the day, they’re the same. Jaehyun’s even stronger than him, in a sense. Incubi can resist the call of a victim if there’s no magic involved. If someone falls for Sicheng, he won’t have a choice but to come to them, hear their plea from beyond oceans and continents. Which is why he’s carrying his mother’s amulet, preventing anyone from binding him. He sees a similar one on Jaehyun and suddenly wants to hear his backstory.

Taeyong closes the door behind him, carrying paper coffee cups with him, his face constricted with annoyance.

“It’s impossible to buy anything today,” he murmurs, setting the carton trey on the table. “You all comfortable?”

“As much as possible,” Sicheng comments, shrugging with one shoulder and plumping down into an armchair. 

Taeil takes another chair, unusually stiff and formal. Sicheng squints at him. He knows why _he’s_ here, but he still recalls his shock upon finding out that Taeyong didn’t just come for him. Another person walking out from Tilanqiao with them was Moon Taeil, his familiarity with Taeyong a great mystery to Sicheng still. Perhaps even a small cause for jealousy. So he’s not special in Taeyong’s life? Sounds fake but okay.

“I’m fine,” Jaehyun says tentatively, hands fidgeting in his lap. Gee, what hole did Taeyong got him out of? He looks battered but still somehow soft, innocent almost. Sicheng feels something tugging at his heart.

Ah shit, he’s gonna develop an unhealthy codependently fuelled attachment to this one too, isn’t he? Taeyong and Taeil are already on that list. Is this what they call empathy? Sicheng could live without it. As Taeil would put it, he’s already too full of himself to fit other people into his world perception.

Taeyong settles on the couch between them, his leg bouncing up and down as he urges them to take the coffee and relax. Sicheng is slightly surprised the coffee is just as he likes it even though Taeyong never took their orders, but then again, what else to expect from a fairy? Damn fortune teller with Bambi eyes. Sicheng is impossibly fond of him.

“We have around a month to get acquainted and start our basic training,” Taeyong starts without a preamble. “I have no doubt that Taeil is fit for battle even after decades, but Jaehyun has never had any combat training, and, while Sicheng’s unique stealth ability is priceless, he still needs to be ready for a fight.”

“Aren’t we supposed to avoid that at any cost?” Taeil wonders, tilting his head in what Sicheng knows as his listening habit. “You said this is more of a spy thing than active agent.”

“Yes, but I would be a sociopath to throw you into this work without foolproofing for any unexpected scenarios.”

Sicheng almost scoffs at that word. _Sociopath._ People always throw it around so carelessly. He’s had it aimed at him for the better part of his adolescence, and that gave it a sour touch in his mind.

Jaehyun clears his throat. “How will it work? We just go where we are told and do whatever it takes to finish an assignment?”

It almost slips past Sicheng, but the barely visible shake of Jaehyun’s lips gives away the actual question he wants to ask — are we permitted to kill? Will we _be forced_ to kill? Peculiar. This was the first thing that came to Sicheng’s mind when Taeyong explained how he managed to get him out of prison, and he felt only a tad of hesitation. He’s not a murderer. The only murder he ever commited was an execution in the name of justice, and while it didn’t fly with the jury, it was still a valid excuse in Sicheng’s mind. He never wanted to be a serial killer, but if the job asked him to dispose of another monster, his only question would be about the weapon he needs to do it with.

The everlasting question of the great philosophers. If you kill a killer, there is still one walking the Earth. 

“I will be handpicking our assignments,” Taeyong says carefully. “With you and your personalities in mind. This isn’t army. I have enough authority to veto anything thrown at us by the agency. But, if you ever have to repeat the crime you were accused of, I can assure you that the victims will be the absolute scum of the world. Nobody will miss them.”

“Crime.” Sicheng scoffs after all. “Just say the word. Murder. We’re all here because of it.”

Jaehyun flinches, not looking away from his cup. Ah, the victimized one. He was forced to do it, that’s obvious as the sky is blue. Sicheng feels sorry for him. In an unexpected and strange revelation, he realizes that he wishes he would be there for Jaehyun on the day whatever happened to him happened, just so he could do it in his stead. Huh. Is that compassion you’re feeling, Dong Sicheng?

And isn’t that what this whole unit is about? This whole agency? Protecting those who can’t protect themselves, taking on their sins so that they don’t have to go through life with blood on their hands? What an interesting time to have an epiphany. 

“Nobody is passing any judgement here,” Taeil speaks up, measuring Jaehyun’s profile with a thoughtful look. “When it comes down to it, we’re all the same.”

“Which is why I chose you for the unit,” Taeyong nods. “Of course, my personal connection to each of you also played its part, but that only spared me the trouble of figuring out if I can trust you.”

“You trust _me_?” Sicheng yelps in fake indignation. “Take that back, liar.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes and ignores it, putting his hands together before him. 

“I won’t say you can still back out, because let’s be real, you can’t. You’ve made your choices. All that’s left now is to make peace with them and have fun during the ride.”

“Is it forever?” Jaehyun asks a little louder than before, perhaps gaining confidence. “I know you said it’s for the rest of my sentence, but I had life. Judging by the overcompensating one’s demeanor, so did he.” Sicheng pouts at that. He isn’t wrong, but still, could’ve picked a better identifier. “And whatever got an _elf_ into prison must’ve been serious enough to deserve a life sentence too.”

Taeyong clicks his tongue and scratches his eyebrow. It’s not an unusual question, considering the situation, but he definitely hoped to avoid it for as long as he could. Sicheng ticks another mental box in favor of Jaehyun. He loves people who make others uncomfortable. It’s a unity thing. 

“Twenty years,” Taeyong decrees with a heavy sigh. “After that, you get your record sealed and can go on with your life. Or stay in TOUCH and keep working for Anteros. I didn’t exactly plan it as a dynasty thing.”

“That’s if we live another twenty years,” Taeil muses. “What if we die on the job?”

“I reckon the chances of that are the same as us dying in prison,” Sicheng notes. “So whatever, you know?”

Taeil raises his eyebrows in agreement and defeat, but Jaehyun doesn’t react to any part of the conversation. He sips from his cup and ponders on it, his eyes faraway. 

“Okay, I guess,” he says quietly eventually. “I trust you, Lee Taeyong.”

Taeyong nods gratefully and looks at Taeil, who just shrugs indifferently. “I’m bound to you by more things than this contract, so.”

 _What’s up with them after all?,_ Sicheng thinks, a little annoyed. He’ll find out, just you watch him. 

“Eh, I didn’t have any solid plans for my life anyway,” he pouts. “I guess twenty years is enough to come up with those. I age extremely slowly.”

If he doesn’t die from a physical injury before that, of course. It’s nice when your bodily functions depend on how many tails you got. One for each century. Convenient, thanks, ancestors. 

“Good, then. You can enjoy the parade today, and tomorrow, we move for Chicago. We’re training there.”

“Aren’t you afraid we’re gonna run off?”

Taeyong measures him with an amused look, his lips pursed to keep off a smile. “I’ve no doubt _you_ could, given your track record. But you’re forgetting that I know you, Sicheng, perhaps even better than you know yourself.”

Sicheng feels instantly uncomfortable, because Taeyong is right, and he’s not ready to share it with the others. They’re going to learn everything about each other eventually, but he’d prefer to keep his privacy for as long as possible. Taeyong doesn’t seem to share the sentiment, it seems. 

“You’re tired of running,” Taeyong says under his breath, his eyes impossibly warm. It rubs Sicheng the wrong way, perhaps because he’s still not used to Taeyong’s general kindness of spirit. 

But in the end, his liar is right. Sicheng has had enough of running away. And if finally stopping means becoming a part of this mismatched family… He will have to make his peace with that. 

5

**May 28, 2019, 15:50**

_Seoul, South Korea_

_TOUCH HQ_

The news come just after Ten gets out of the shower, the remains of Yuta’s appearance already spiraling down the drain. It’s Mark who delivers them, his eyes wide and burning.

Namjoon looks angry, the first emotion he’s expressed since Ten met him, when they arrive to the holding area. He’s tearing at his hair, eyes darting around the corridor wildly, and when he sees Ten, his first reaction is to grab his shoulder and get their faces so close Ten can see a strange crimson color deep inside Namjoon’s brown eyes. 

“Did you have anything to do with it?” He almost growls, his nostrils flaring. 

“Wha— _Of course not_. What the fuck?” 

His brain seems to finally connect to his limbs and he throws Namjoon’s hands off of him, storming past him and to Taeyong’s cell, just to see it himself. 

He didn’t really believe it when Mark told him, thinking it’s just a ruse, another sick joke this HQ is playing on them. As he rushed past the agents with the blaring alarm causing a headache behind his eyes, his only thought was — _who’s in on it, after all?_

It didn’t fit any possible theory he had about Anteros, and he simply couldn’t jam the limited amount of facts he had into this new theorem.

But now it’s before him, and he can’t deny it, not when the door to Taeyong’s door is gaping open, his bunk neatly made, no signs of its occupant being anywhere in the near proximity. 

So it’s true. He almost laughs, an anticlimactic but perhaps justified reaction. It’s true. 

_Because this system is shit at holding people who don’t actually want to be there._

Sicheng was really onto something with that one, wasn’t he? Here’s the proof, right before Ten’s eyes, white light mocking him with its sharpness as it not-shines on an obvious fact — Lee Taeyong has escaped. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we moving along folks, I promise it will get more action-y soon.  
> I really love this chapter, esp Sicheng's flashbacks, he's one of the most interesting characters of mine tbh. I love his development and wit, and ugh, catch me writing 282389 spin-offs about all the people in this fic.
> 
> little note regarding the court proceedings: I'm basing TOUCH law system on the US one, which means that it's the same in every country as long as it is under the TOUCH's jurisdiction. most of my knowledge comes from googling, movies, and binging htgawm during a particularly lengthy depressive episode. 
> 
> thanks to everyone reading and leaving kudos and comments, I appreciate every single one of you! come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara) or [cc](https://curiouscat.me/romulusadhara)!


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